Indigo Bay
***
Barbara Baldwin


It had to be a dream. People couldn’t travel through time. 
But if this was a dream, she never wanted to wake up... 
Mica’s heart refused to slow down as the stranger moved 
close to her. Even though she knew he meant to kiss her, she 
felt more curious than threatened. Tall and dark, he wore a 
white shirt with billowing sleeves and snug black pants that 
disappeared into the tops of knee high black boots. She noticed 
he had his dark hair clubbed back, though bits curled around 
his angular face. Mica caught a hint of humor in his gaze, along 
with something far more dangerous. 
Instinct shouted this was his domain, and she tried to regain 
her composure and come up with a reason for being in his 
room. However, her composure slipped drastically when he 
took the book from her and replaced it on the shelf. 
And touched her in doing so. 
Mica gasped when their bodies came into contact. The hard 
muscle beneath the soft linen of his shirt caused her breasts to 
ache in reaction to his touch. Heat branded her, and her heart 
thudded a dangerous beat. She knew she should ask him to 
back up because he was a virtual stranger. Handsome, but still 
unknown. 
Nothing could have prepared her for the seductive power 
of his brown eyes—dark, penetrating eyes capable of reading 
her most intimate thoughts. Tiny worry lines crinkled at their 
corners, and she felt an unbidden desire to touch him and soothe 
the frown from his face. His gaze captured hers. Black brows 
rose in question. 
Yes, her mind screamed, regardless of the question. 
Overwhelmed by the pure sensuality of the man, she didn’t 
move a fraction as he lowered his lips to hers. Just before his 
eyes closed, she caught a glimpse of passion in their dark 
depths. 
His kiss dissolved any defenses she may have constructed, 
and she groaned as his arms circled her to pull her closer. 
She vaguely recalled a novel where the author wrote, “The 
heroine felt devoured.” She had laughed at the time, but now 
understood. 

For two modern day heroines—
My mom, Mitzi, and my daughter, Cassie.
I’m so proud of both of you!
To my husband, Dave, and my son, Tom,
And to my dad, Rusty—
You are the heroes of my life.
Acknowledgments: 
Thanks to my own personal research assistant
Maxine Ganske
Librarian extraordinaire!
To Linda Kichline, editor & publisher—
Thanks for your faithful support of the paranormal genre.
You’ve given many of us the extraordinary opportunity
to share our hearts with others.

Indigo Bay
***
Barbara Baldwin



One 
Cameron, South Carolina –Present Day 
“Thomas...Thomas.” 
The raspy whisper brought Mica Chadwick out of her chair 
to lean over the bed. Paying little attention to the names and 
comments mumbled by her aunt, she silently damned modern 
medicine for not being able to prevent heart attacks and their 
debilitating effects. 
“Michaela, dear, you’re here.” Her aunt wheezed, then 
stopped. Mica held her own breath, waiting. She made a grab 
for the emergency button when her aunt’s eyes popped open 
again and she coughed. A trembling hand blindly groped for 
Mica’s own, and Mica squeezed it to reassure herself as well 
as her aunt. 
“I have to leave soon, Michaela Marie.” Her aunt more 
often used her full name rather than the shortened nickname 
Mica preferred. Mica smiled now at the sound of it. 
“Aunt Theo.” A gentle squeeze from her aunt’s hand cut 
off her words. 
“It’s time...time for me to go.” 
Mica looked deep into clear blue eyes so like her own. She 
could see her aunt was lucid, but she didn’t like what she heard. 
“Auntie, no. You’re going to get better, truly.” Mica knew 
what the doctors said, but she told the lie, anyway. At eighty-
nine, Aunt Theo’s heart had worn out, and Doctor Jacobs didn’t 
know how long she could last. “If you rest and take your 
medicine—” 
“I’m not going lying flat on my back, Michaela Marie. 
You know better than that. I signed papers last week at Dr. 

Jacobs’ office. I’ll not have tubes and needles and whatnot 
making me look like a porcupine.” Her aunt’s voice, 
surprisingly strong, gave Mica new hope. 
Just as quickly she began to cough, and Mica supported 
her so she wouldn’t choke. Blue-veined hands clutched Mica’s 
arm until she knew she’d bruise. Still she held her aunt, cooing 
reassuring words close to her ear and smoothing her white hair 
with a trembling hand. 
“Thomas needs you, Michaela Marie. Go to Sea Crest and 
be with him.” Though her grip had not loosened, her aunt’s 
voice faded to a croak. 
“Sh...sh...don’t try to talk.” Mica didn’t know anyone 
named Thomas, but she refused to agitate her aunt by telling 
her that. She carefully laid her back upon the bed and pulled 
the covers over her frail form. Thinking she slept, Mica turned, 
but Aunt Theo’s whispered plea stopped her. 
“You’re the only one who can save him, dear. And Thomas 
can make you happy.” 
“Aunt Theo...” Mica turned back, but noting the closed 
eyes and shallow breathing, she didn’t continue her argument. 
Her gaze remained on the rise and fall of the coverlet to assure 
herself Aunt Theo remained with her. She had no idea to whom 
her aunt referred, not that it mattered. Mica did not need, or 
want, another man in her life. 
She reached out to caress her aunt’s gnarled and weather-
wrinkled hand, noting a small amount of dirt under her nails. 
Mica would bet any amount of money her aunt had been 
working out in the garden again, in the heat of the day, and 
most probably without a hat. 
Her aunt’s warm hand tucked into her own formed a bridge 
to her memories. Mica closed her eyes and thought back to her 
childhood and the time spent with her aunt at Sea Crest, the 
old family home on Cameron Island. Even though it had been 
turned into a bed & breakfast inn years ago, Aunt Theo kept an 
apartment in one section, and Sea Crest remained a unique 
place to spend a summer. As an inquisitive and energetic kid, 
Mica had learned to swim in the ocean, play hide-and-go-seek 
in the garden maze, and dress up in old, old clothes from the 

attic. 
Aunt Theo’s hand stirred beneath her own to scatter the 
daydreams. 
She had recently planned time off to visit Sea Crest. Not 
only did she dearly love her feisty old aunt, but she needed 
time to come to grips with her life, her failed marriage, and her 
career as an attorney. Now her plans would be on hold, for 
Mica wondered if Aunt Theo would ever live at Sea Crest again. 
The very thought of her not puttering around the estate and 
telling stories about the “old days” saddened Mica immensely. 
She stepped into the hall and called her mother, who 
promised she would be up first thing in the morning. When 
she returned to her aunt’s room, panic clutched her chest to 
find the bed empty, the IV tube dangling uselessly to drip onto 
the floor. She rushed to the bed to buzz the nurse’s station when 
she saw her aunt’s small form in the chair by the window. Relief 
washed over her even as she started to scold her for leaving the 
bed. 
When her aunt didn’t respond, Mica moved closer to shake 
her awake. The poor dear sat tilted at an uncomfortable angle, 
but when Mica touched her shoulder to wake her, her hands 
dropped from her lap and her head lolled to the side. Mica 
knelt beside the chair. 
“Great-great-aunt Theodora Josephine, wake up, do you 
hear me?” Frightened now, Mica scrambled across the bed and 
pushed the nurse’s button, then slid off to her aunt’s side again. 
She sobbed as she searched for a pulse but couldn’t discern a 
beat. 
Nurses pushed her aside. Sharp commands to the orderly 
had him placing her beloved aunt none too gently back onto 
the bed. A nurse hovered to check for pulse and respiration, 
but when she shouted, “Code blue,” Mica had seen enough. 
“No.” The soft-spoken word echoed across the bleak room. 
“It’s standard procedure, Miss.” 
Mica knew the nurse only followed hospital rules. 
“No. She didn’t want the needles.” Her gaze caressed her 
aunt’s beloved face, peaceful now in death. “It’s too late, 
anyway. She’s already gone.” Tears obscured her vision. Her 

fingers trembled against her lips as she tried unsuccessfully to 
muffle a sob. 
The hospital staff moved aside to allow Mica her grief. 
There’d be papers to sign, and reports to file. As an attorney, 
Mica was familiar with the Advanced Directive Statutes of 
South Carolina. She also knew there had been no court case to 
test the limits of living will declarations. The hospital would 
protect itself from liability. But none of that mattered at the 
moment. 
“Here, Miss, she must have dropped this.” She was vaguely 
aware of the orderly pressing something into her hand before 
he left the room. Mica bent to place a farewell kiss on her 
aunt’s wrinkled brow. She looked younger now. Perhaps Aunt 
Theo had been right when she said the time had come to leave. 
Mica now realized her aunt would never have been happy 
in a hospital or nursing home. If Theodora Josephine Ashley 
couldn’t be at Sea Crest, she didn’t want to be anywhere. Mica 
smiled through her tears and said a silent prayer to God to take 
good care of this very special lady. 
She brushed at her eyes, only then realizing she held a 
paper in her hand, crushed almost beyond repair. Carefully, 
she smoothed it flat against her chest as she moved towards 
the light. Her breath caught in surprise as she scanned the legal 
document. 
“Oh, Aunt Theo, what have you done?” 
*** 
Katie French, a lifelong friend, had stopped by Mica’s 
Charleston apartment every day since Aunt Theo’s funeral two 
weeks before. For the first time, Mica felt up to speaking about 
her aunt’s bequest. She still couldn’t believe her own father 
had written the document and never said a word about it. 
“It’s so exciting, Mica! You own Sea Crest!” Katie, like 
one of those perpetual motion toys, paced back and forth from 
the breakfast bar to the couch. She had the energy and 
personality to run Sea Crest, not Mica. “Well, aren’t you 
excited?” she asked, stopping just long enough to throw Mica 
a perturbed look, hands on hips, before she started pacing again. 
“What do you suggest I do with a bed and breakfast so far 

up the coast from my law practice?” Mica questioned her. She 
had come to terms with her favorite aunt’s death, but didn’t 
know if she was ready to visit Sea Crest. The inn held too 
many memories. 
“Is it true that Theo’s family owned the whole island? How 
romantic!” 
Mica grinned at her friend’s enthusiasm. Katie had married 
her childhood sweetheart and had three adorable kids. She spent 
her days at the country club, or shopping, or doing volunteer 
work. She employed a housekeeper and a nanny, and she didn’t 
worry about paying bills or struggling to make sense of her 
life. Mica sometimes envied her. 
Instead, Mica had a routinely predictable and dull life. She 
had a responsible career. She had made a responsible marriage 
to a family of strong social standing, even if her husband had 
proven to be anything but responsible. She always paid her 
bills on time, visited her parents often—as a good daughter 
should—and dressed in fashionable, conservative, suits. 
As Katie chattered on about Sea Crest, Mica began to think 
perhaps the time had come for an adventure. She was tired of 
being reliable. She laughed to herself at the thought, for she 
and her father had already spent hours shifting cases to ensure 
she had the time off she requested. Any cases that couldn’t be 
postponed had been given to a junior executive to handle in 
her absence. She rose from the couch and headed for her 
bedroom, confident Katie would follow. 
Katie plopped on the bed, stomach first, and propped her 
chin in her hands. She certainly didn’t act like a twenty-nine-
year-old mother of three. “What are you doing?” she asked. 
“You’ve been badgering me to go to Sea Crest, so I am.” 
Mica watched her friend’s mouth drop open. “There. Are you 
happy, now?” 
“Oh, Mica, that’s wonderful! I know you’ll love it. We 
had such fun there when we were kids.” 
“Katie, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not kids 
anymore.” 
“Michaela Marie Chadwick, listen to me. If you just let 
your hair down, you will relax and have fun. You might even 

meet someone interesting up there.” Katie forever worried about 
her being alone, though Mica was happier single than married 
to Richard. 
“Yes, ma’am. I promise.” She grinned as she gave her friend 
a hug. 
*** 
A sense of peace stole over Mica the moment she dropped 
her bags inside Sea Crest’s front entrance. She smiled at the 
smell of lemons, which would forever remind her of Theodora 
Josephine Ashley, Sea Crest’s eccentric matron. 
Mica’s great-great-aunt had maintained a home here even 
though she had a manager. She would often help with 
reservations, set menus with old-time recipes, and greet guests. 
She had liked people, and wanted anyone who stayed at Sea 
Crest to feel at home. 
A new manager greeted Mica, her nametag identifying her 
as Mrs. Anna Harris. “Ms. Chadwick, we were all so sorry to 
hear about Mrs. Ashley. We considered her more a dear friend 
than an employer.” 
“Thank you, Mrs. Harris.” 
“Oh, you just call me Anna. Here, let me take your bags. I 
expect you’ll stay in your aunt’s apartment. Well, it’s yours 
now, isn’t it?” 
Mica nodded as she followed the woman down a short hall 
to the northern part of the house. She didn’t question how the 
woman knew she had inherited Sea Crest. She was curious, 
however, about the nervousness in the woman’s voice. Perhaps 
Anna thought Mica intended to take over and oust her from 
her position. Mica would certainly discredit that notion in a 
hurry. As much as she loved her aunt, she couldn’t fathom giving 
up a law practice to run a bed and breakfast. 
“Oh, my.” She had forgotten how Sea Crest resisted change. 
The manor maintained the grandeur of more than a century 
ago. A short hall separated her aunt’s apartment from the inn, 
and as they entered the high, oak-trimmed doorway, Mica felt 
drawn back in time. The sitting room, full of antiques, contained 
dark, wood furniture with brocade seats, heavy draperies, and 
even needlepoint pillows on the couch. A small kitchen stood 

to her left, one of the few concessions to modern times. Directly 
in front of her, spanning almost the entire north wall, tall 
windows embraced a set of French doors that overlooked the 
lovely gardens her aunt had cherished. 
“I’ll put your bags in here, Ms. Chadwick.” 
Mica followed the woman into the bedroom. She noticed 
her aunt had re-papered the room in a yellow rose pattern. It 
certainly helped brighten the effect of the dark wood highboy, 
vanity and canopied bed that occupied the spacious room. Again 
floor to ceiling windows looked out over the garden and 
fountain. 
“Thank you so much for making me feel welcome, Anna.” 
“Well, you are Mrs. Ashley’s niece, after all, Ms. 
Chadwick.” The woman gave her a warm smile. 
“Please, call me Mica. We don’t stand on formality here, 
do we?” 
“I’ll try, Ms...Mica, but you and Mrs. Ashley, well, you’re 
old Southern family, you know, and we do have our traditions 
to uphold.” 
“I understand. As long as you’re here,” Mica saw the smile 
fade from the woman’s face and rushed to reassure her, “I fully 
intend for you to continue in your current position—you and 
all the staff. You may tell them as much. I wouldn’t dream of 
changing anything about Sea Crest.” 
Apparent relief brought the smile back to the woman’s face. 
“I know you’re busy,” Mica continued, “but would you 
have time to show me around? I haven’t visited in a while, and 
then I spent most of my time here with Aunt Theo. I want to 
familiarize myself with the rest of the inn.” 
“It would be my pleasure to show off Sea Crest to its new 
owner, but would the morning be soon enough? We have guests 
arriving and leaving today.” 
“Of course. Tomorrow will be fine.” Mica nodded 
agreement, and Anna left to prepare for the new arrivals. 
Mica unpacked her things and stored the bags under the 
bed before opening the doors to the patio and gardens. She 
bent to pinch dead leaves from a rosebush and realized the 
plants and flowers weren’t in the best of health. Weeds choked 

out some of the verbena, and unwanted ivy tangled among the 
azaleas. 
Her aunt had refused to hire a gardener, insisting she could 
take better care of her babies than anyone else. Because the 
gardens remained private and not readily accessible to the inn, 
it appeared no one had thought to do anything with them since 
her aunt’s death. Mica made a mental note to remedy that 
situation. 
She sank down on one of the stone benches which 
surrounded the fountain and stared at the granite Cupid standing 
in the center of a small pool. She cocked her head to the side 
and smiled. This Cupid had no little bow and arrows, as the 
original concept of Cupid should have. 
She recalled a story her aunt used to tell. At the time, Mica 
had thought it so romantic. Generations ago, the owner of Sea 
Crest had fallen in love with a mysterious lady and had 
commissioned a statue of Cupid in Charleston. When delivered, 
the workmen accidentally tipped it over on the stones, snapping 
off the hand that held the bow and arrows. The man had been 
very angry, but the lady had told him she loved him truly and 
would not let him have the statue replaced with a new one. 
Mica could still hear her aunt’s voice at the end of the story. 
“The man then told his beloved it made no difference that 
Cupid had no bow and arrows, for his heart had already been 
captured by the most wonderful woman in the world, and his 
love would be hers throughout all time.” Her aunt would sigh, 
then add, “Michaela Marie, someday you’ll find just such a 
man, and Sea Crest will be safe in your hands.” 
Mica now frowned at Cupid. “You and my aunt must have 
crossed signals when it came to me. I sure haven’t met any 
man as handsome, endearing, and romantic as Aunt Theo 
always said were in her time.” 
Feeling foolish talking to a stone statue, Mica left the garden 
to wander through the rest of the inn. As a child visiting her 
aunt, she had loved to hear stories about Sea Crest. In the early 
1800’s, a plantation with acres of crops and flowering gardens 
covered the entire island. During the War Between the States, 
the manor housed soldiers, then the family turned it into a 

boarding house to make ends meet. Eventually, the land around 
the manor house was sold to pay taxes. 
Over the years other beach houses were built, but the island 
still retained much of its primitive atmosphere. She couldn’t 
recall when the house had been converted to a bed & breakfast, 
but it still stood above the rest of the homes in elegance. 
She strolled down a short hallway that opened into the 
community living room where guests could enjoy television, a 
game of chess, or just relax. She smiled, for this room also 
reflected Aunt Theo’s personality. Yellow washed the walls in 
cheery brightness. Floral pictures hung on any available wall 
space, and fragile porcelain bouquets sat atop the mantle. Like 
the rest of the inn, however, the room contained furnishings 
from the 1800’s. Even the television and lights were somewhat 
disguised in period decoration. 
Mica ran her hand over the banister’s natural wood as she 
passed the stairs. A small reception table sat in the shadow of 
the curved stairway. Although the regulations governing bed 
& breakfast inns stipulated a maximum of five guest bedrooms, 
the dining room she entered could easily seat fifty. The smooth, 
polished sideboard offered guests a buffet-style breakfast. A 
huge chandelier had been converted to electricity, but lent the 
room a nostalgic air. After the turn of the twentieth century, 
the kitchen had been built onto the back of the house, whereas 
before it had been a separate structure. 
Mica glanced out the back door to find a light rain falling 
that would prevent her from walking on the beach. She 
shrugged. Long days and nights loomed before her to indulge 
in that delight, so she returned to her apartment to relax for the 
evening. 
*** 
Mica jerked awake, her neck kinked from where her head 
had been cranked lopsided on the couch. The noisy static from 
the television indicated it was well past midnight. She rubbed 
her neck as she stood and picked up her plate and cup from the 
coffee table. What had awakened her? Usually if she fell asleep 
in front of the TV, she slept like the dead until morning. 
Halfway to the kitchen, she froze. Loud male voices floated 

in through the open French doors. While Mica couldn’t discern 
what they said, she could hear the anger. She grabbed a 
flashlight from the kitchen drawer and cautiously slid the screen 
door open and stepped onto the patio flanking the garden. 
She frowned as she held her breath to listen. The yellow 
circle of light waved back and forth as she searched the garden 
for intruders. The voices, though not as loud, were still 
disturbing in their intensity. Where on earth did they come from? 
She tilted her head. Now, it sounded as though the voices 
came from the inn’s second floor. Mica’s exasperation rose as 
she stomped back into her apartment. She would not allow 
anyone to disturb the other guests, and if they couldn’t keep 
the noise down, she would escort them out the door immediately. 
The flashlight fell to the couch as she grabbed the wrapper 
that matched her silk pajamas, tying the belt as she walked 
briskly down the hall and up the stairs. She had no trouble 
finding her way since lights were kept on all night. 
She softened her steps as she moved down the hall, listening 
all the while to the voices. The yelling became loudest when 
she reached a door at the opposite end of the hall from the 
stairway. She pushed aside any guilt for eavesdropping as she 
put her ear to the heavy wood. Strange, though the voices 
appeared to come from here, the key remained on her side of 
the door, which indicated no guests occupied the room. 
Determined to stop the argument as the volume grew, Mica 
reached down to turn the key and open the door. A tingle shot 
up her arm, crossed her shoulders and settled in her chest to 
constrict her breathing. Sounds much like the surf at high tide 
pounded in her ears and her vision blurred for an instant. She 
jerked her hand from the doorknob as the door swung open to 
reveal not a room but a long corridor. 
Nervous at the thought of invading another person’s 
privacy, but eager to end the commotion, Mica stepped through 
the door. Humid air surrounded her as a warm breeze swept 
down the hall. She thought perhaps this section had been shut 
off for repairs, since apparently the air conditioner didn’t work. 
The hallway appeared to have a design similar to the rest of 
the inn. Plush carpet tickled her bare feet, and the hall contained 

dim lights of the same style. Most of the doors along the corridor 
were closed, and no light filtered beneath them. 
She stepped through the first door she found ajar, expecting 
to confront the unruly people and ask them to keep it down, 
but she found the room empty. She forgot her reason for coming 
upstairs as the glamour of a bygone era wrapped her in warmth 
and welcome. Burnished oak furniture and book-lined shelves 
filled the room. 
The only illumination came from an antique oil lamp on 
the desk, and she reached behind her for a light switch. Not 
immediately finding one, she moved across the room and turned 
up the lamp’s wick, frowning. Anna should not use such a 
dangerous source of light in this corridor. Although lending an 
historical air to the room, if a lamp should tip over—Mica 
shuddered at the thought. 
The books on the far wall captured her attention. When 
she moved to examine them, she released a soft, slow whistle. 
One of Aunt Theo’s ancestors had spared no expense in 
recreating the past, she thought as she pulled a heavy volume 
from the shelf. She caressed the leather-bound tome as she 
read the title, embossed on the rib in gold leaf. 
In her surprise, she nearly dropped the book as she quickly 
glanced up at the other volumes. Law books—all of them —in 
mint condition even though the ribs stated they were South 
Carolina Law Statutes for 1840! She would definitely have to 
ask Anna Harris about this section of the inn. 
*** 
The downstairs clock struck twelve as T. Logan Rutledge 
stood silent and undetected at the doorway to his study. It would 
appear his housekeeper’s newfangled idea of carpet in the 
hallway served more purpose than ordinary comfort for his 
plantation home. The plush covering must have muffled his 
footsteps as he returned to his study. 
Arguing with his stepbrother, Neil, all the way out the front 
door, he had not been quiet as he stormed back upstairs. Now, 
he must deal with another intruder in his home. His anger still 
simmered, and he opened his mouth to castigate her, but for 
some reason the raven-haired beauty’s womanly curves softened 

his anger and turned his blood warm. 
For just an instant, he wondered if this could be another of 
Neil’s tricks. No, his stepbrother had the habit of foreshadowing 
his hand, and Logan never had trouble reading his mind. 
He heard a soft whistle then a gasp as the woman pulled a 
book from the shelf. Thinking she was another of his 
housekeeper’s myriad assortment of cousins and nieces, he felt 
sure she gasped from the weight of the book, since most of the 
lower class could not read. Before he could reprimand her for 
wandering above stairs, she moved towards the desk light and 
he caught a glimpse of long, trim legs through the silk of her 
wrapper. Was he mistaken, or were those trousers she wore 
beneath the calf-length jacket? 
Captivated, he watched as she tucked a strand of hair behind 
one ear. Odd, but he could never recall seeing such a statement 
in contradictions. Here stood a beautiful woman, but with hair 
as short as a man’s and wearing trousers. Still, she was a 
fetching piece, and he thought perhaps he’d take advantage of 
her presence. 
“Excuse me?” He said, coughing discreetly. 
The woman screeched at his simple words and whirled to 
face him, the book clasped against her bosom. Logan’s breath 
caught when she came full into his view, her blue eyes wide 
and her dark brows lifted in an expression of surprise. 
She stood before him wrapped in peach silk, her black 
hair swirling about her face, and her eyes huge. With the light 
now behind her, he could see most of the rest of her slim figure 
beneath the thin covering she wore. What he saw enticed him 
to gamble that she had not been sent by his conniving 
stepbrother, but had ventured from below stairs to visit the 
master of Indigo Bay. 
He stepped further into the room and poured himself a 
brandy from the glass decanter behind his desk. She didn’t say 
a word. When he gestured to her with the glass, she shook her 
head and clutched his law book closer to her breasts. He gave 
a hearty sigh. 
“Are you another of Mattie’s cousins, or a niece, perhaps?” 
“Mattie?” She managed to squeak out the one word. 

“Ah-ha, so you are. I thought as much. Most times, though, 
her relatives are too timid to show themselves above stairs. 
You are different.” He downed the last of the brandy, set his 
glass back on the cart, and walked over to stand in front of her. 
She was tall for a female, for she tilted her head only slightly 
to look him in the eye. She smelled of fresh air and sunshine, 
and his fingers itched to touch her sun-kissed skin. Never had 
a woman so quickly captivated him. Under normal 
circumstances, he kept a very tight rein on his emotions, but 
she drew him closer with her sky-blue eyes and pouting lips. 
Were her lips as soft and hot as they appeared? His mind 
rushed headlong over a waterfall of emotions, and he had yet 
to know her name, much less kiss her. 
And he did want to kiss her. More than once. Why shouldn’t 
he? After all, why else had she come to his study dressed so 
seductively if she were not some promiscuous miss out for an 
adventure? 
“I will relieve you of your burden.” He gently removed the 
book from her clasp. “In the future, please do not take the 
liberty of removing these books unless you’re dusting the room. 
They’re far too precious to me, and besides, they have no 
pictures to glance upon.” 
“Law books?” 
Ah, they were making progress, for she uttered two words 
that time, and apparently was smarter than most, for she could 
read. He reached past her to put the book back on the shelf, 
and his chest came into contact with hers. Instant fire scorched 
him even as he heard her suck in her breath. 
She stared at him. Sooty lashes blinked rapidly as though 
she was trying to clear her vision. The heat of her already burned 
into him, and he felt the urgent need to kiss her pink lips that 
even now trembled so close to his. He lowered his head toward 
hers. 
Mica’s heart refused to slow down as the stranger moved 
close to her. Even though she knew he meant to kiss her, she 
felt more curious than threatened. Tall and dark, he wore a 
white shirt with billowing sleeves and snug black pants that 
disappeared into the tops of knee high black boots. She noticed 

he had his dark hair clubbed back, though bits curled around 
his angular face. Mica caught a hint of humor in his gaze, along 
with something far more dangerous. 
Instinct shouted this was his domain, and she tried to regain 
her composure and come up with a reason for being in his 
room. However, her composure slipped drastically when he 
took the book from her and replaced it on the shelf. 
And touched her in doing so. 
Mica gasped when their bodies came into contact. The hard 
muscle beneath the soft linen of his shirt caused her breasts to 
ache in reaction to his touch. Heat branded her, and her heart 
thudded a dangerous beat. She knew she should ask him to 
back up because he was a virtual stranger. Handsome, but still 
unknown. 
Nothing could have prepared her for the seductive power 
of his brown eyes—dark, penetrating eyes capable of reading 
her most intimate thoughts. Tiny worry lines crinkled at their 
corners, and she felt an unbidden desire to touch him and soothe 
the frown from his face. His gaze captured hers. Black brows 
rose in question. 
Yes, her mind screamed, regardless of the question. 
Overwhelmed by the pure sensuality of the man, she didn’t 
move a fraction as he lowered his lips to hers. Just before his 
eyes closed, she caught a glimpse of passion in their dark 
depths. 
His kiss dissolved any defenses she may have constructed, 
and she groaned as his arms circled her to pull her closer. She 
couldn’t remember ever being kissed this way. His lips, firm 
and warm, touched her with gentle persuasion, yet she could 
sense the underlying passion. His mouth traveled from her lips 
to her ear, where he nibbled on her lobe before sucking gently. 
She vaguely recalled a novel where the author wrote, “The 
heroine felt devoured.” She had laughed at the time, but now 
understood, as his lips scorched a path back to her mouth to 
communicate his desire once more. 
Her body melted into a puddle of heat. She ached with 
pleasure so intense it hurt. Her fingers curled into his shirtfront 
as her legs threatened to turn to jelly. She could feel his heart 

beat against her breasts, pounding in answer to her own erratic 
beat. 
“What is your name, midnight minx?” His husky whisper 
reached her through a haze. 
“Mica.” She moaned as he rained kisses against her closed 
eyes. 
“Mica? That’s too masculine a name for one so delicate. Is 
there more?” Each word was punctuated with butterfly kisses 
along her brow and nose. 
“Michaela Marie.” His kisses were driving her crazy; 
otherwise, she would never have told him her middle name. 
“Ah, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” His kiss 
stopped any reply she would have made, the heat from his lips 
traveling through her to turn her blood to fire. She stood on 
tiptoe to get closer. 
“Come to bed with me,” he whispered, pulling her tighter 
against him. 
His suggestion brought Mica to her senses, astounded that 
the man’s sensuality had carried her away. 
“No!” 
She pushed away from him, and his arms dropped to his 
sides, but he remained close enough to block her escape. He 
no longer touched her, but Mica could feel his heat and passion 
as though he did. 
“I don’t think...I really shouldn’t be here.” It was all she 
could think of in way of explanation. 
“I know that, sweet thing, for this is Indigo Bay, and I 
know all who belong here.” His full lips lifted in a sensuous 
smile. “But that is of no consequence, for tonight, if you will 
allow it, you will be my guest.” 
He executed a bow, and Mica felt the urge to curtsy as a 
lady would when a gentleman asked for a dance. It only 
deepened her chagrin to glance down and realize she was not 
wearing a dress, but silk pajamas. She needed to get out of 
here before she lost the rest of her dignity and begged him for 
something she had thought she no longer needed. She glanced 
around for an excuse, her gaze settling on the drink decanters 
he had reached for earlier. 

“May I have a glass of...water, please?” She gave him what 
she hoped was an enticing smile. 
“Water? I have sherry and brandy, but no water.” He now 
seemed in no hurry to continue his seduction, and that made 
Mica more nervous. When he moved towards the table, all fluid 
grace like a wild animal on the prowl, she knew she was in 
trouble. 
Except for his kisses, which she couldn’t blame entirely 
on him, he appeared to have the integrity of a gentleman. She 
used that to her advantage and allowed her Southern drawl to 
slip into her words, aware of its effect on men. “I really would 
like water, please. Sherry and brandy will make me wilt right 
on the spot, I assure you.” 
He gave her a sideways glance, and she fluttered her lashes. 
“Well, if you insist on water, I’ll have to fetch it, for all the 
help are beyond hearing in their beds at this hour.” He stopped 
to whisper close to her ear. “As we shall be, just as soon as I 
return.” 
Mica sagged against the desk and gave him a weak smile 
before he turned and walked out of the room. In the next instant, 
she sprinted to the library door. When a quick glance assured 
her he was nowhere in sight, she raced down the hall to the 
door through which she had come. 
In her haste, it slammed behind her, but she didn’t care as 
she twisted the key in the lock. Heart pounding and knees weak, 
she rested her head against the wood’s cool surface. What in 
the world had come over her to make her act the way she had? 
And with a perfect stranger no less! She could only blame it on 
his overwhelming sensuality. She’d never met a man with such 
seductive power. 
As she made her way down the stairs to her rooms, she 
recalled just how perfect he had been. He had a lean, muscular 
body, silky hair and laughing eyes. The best part had been his 
searing kisses—hot, sweet and more than adequate to send even 
the most sensible woman into ecstasy. 
She fell into bed exhausted, but determined to find out the 
next day exactly what kind of rooms Sea Crest’s second floor 
contained. More importantly, she wanted the name of the 

stranger who not only inhabited those rooms but also had 
managed to breach all the defenses she had so carefully 
constructed since her divorce. 

Two
Mica woke the next morning tangled up in the sheets and 
feeling disoriented. It took a few minutes to remember she was 
in Aunt Theo’s bed at Sea Crest. As she lay staring at the ceiling, 
she recalled her strange dream. At least she thought it was a 
dream. Her body immediately tingled, and her lips throbbed as 
though the kisses had been real. 
“Hogwash!” she muttered, sliding from bed. As she walked 
to the kitchen, she recalled Katie’s wish that Mica would meet 
a man while on vacation. That must have been the impetus for 
her dream. A tour of the inn would dispel any imaginings of 
handsome men who lived upstairs. 
As she fixed her coffee, she noticed that two buttons on 
her pajamas had fallen off. 
“That’s weird.” She plucked at the fabric. She knew she 
had tossed and turned most of the night because of the condition 
of the sheets, but to have torn off the buttons on her favorite 
pj’s? 
More disturbed by her dream than by two missing plastic 
buttons, Mica showered and dressed. She wanted Anna to give 
her a tour before breakfast, where she hoped for the opportunity 
to meet the guests. 
Anna sat at the reception desk just inside the main door. 
“We’ve only got one guest this morning, but we’re expecting 
another couple tomorrow,” she replied cheerfully when Mica 
asked about the guests. She provided a running dialogue as 
they climbed the steps to the second floor, the polished wood 
railing gleaming in the early morning light. 
“It appears you keep a tight rein on the housecleaning staff,” 

Mica commented. 
“Yes, I try. Since we only have five guest rooms, it’s not 
hard to keep things clean with two regular maids. I help when 
I can get away from the desk. Ah, here we are.” 
Mica experienced a sense of déjà vu when they reached 
the top of the stairs. It appeared exactly as it had in her dream. 
Even the silk flower arrangements on the wall tables were the 
same colors. She hadn’t been upstairs since she was a little 
girl. Could a person remember such small details from that 
long ago? 
The stairway divided the hall in half, and a person could 
go left or right along the corridors that flanked the stairwell. A 
beautiful, scrolled-wood railing enclosed the stairwell to 
prevent accidents. 
Each of the doorways had ornately carved door frames, all 
alike. “These lead to guest rooms,” Anna stated, pointing to 
the doors directly in front of them at the top of the stairs. She 
moved along the east corridor, where there were two doors 
similar to the west side. “Not all of these are guest rooms. As 
you know, South Carolina law limits the number of guest rooms 
a small inn such as this can maintain. One room at the end of 
the corridor is a reading room available to the guests.” 
Mica noted the small lights on the walls that cast the 
hallway in a warm, mellow light. Their design replicated the 
earlier gaslights that had been popular before the advent of 
electricity and gave the hallway a turn-of-the-twentieth-century 
air. Odd, but she recalled the lights in part of the inn flickering 
like real candles, not burning with the steady glow of electricity. 
Why would she dream about a time before electricity? 
“What about these two?” Mica asked about the doors at 
the end of the hall. 
Pointing to the right, Anna stated, “This opens to a large 
linen closet. I can show you how we keep it if you’d like.” 
“That won’t be necessary. From what I’ve seen, you keep 
everything spotless.” Mica was curious what the housekeeper 
had to say about the rest of the inn. “What about this door?” 
“Oh, that doesn’t go anywhere.” 
Mica cocked her head to the side and glanced at Anna to 

see if she were teasing. It would appear the answer to her dream 
lay in this woman’s knowledge. “Why on earth would there be 
a door that goes nowhere?” 
Anna laughed lightly. “I asked your aunt the very same 
question when I began working here. She simply stated, 
‘Because it’s the Georgian style, that’s why.’” 
Mica arched her brow, but before she could respond, Anna 
said, “That’s all your aunt would tell me, but Cook gave me 
the whole story. Seems there was a fire generations ago, and 
the manor house, which was connected to this section by a 
hallway past that door, burned beyond repair. It was never 
rebuilt.” 
“But the door wasn’t taken out?” 
Anna nodded in confirmation. “The way I understand my 
history, the Georgian style meant everything had to be balanced. 
Notice the rest of the upstairs—the stairs are right in the middle. 
There are two doors on each side, each doorway is exactly the 
same in height and style, and there’s a table right in the middle 
of each wall. Your aunt was a stickler for tradition and 
preserving the past.” 
Mica could surely attest to that. However, it seemed odd 
to have a door that led nowhere. Glancing down, she saw an 
old-fashioned skeleton key inserted in the lock. “Why is the 
key still there?” 
Anna shrugged. “The key turns, but the door won’t open. I 
assume it’s been welded shut somehow.” 
Mica reached down to turn the knob, just to see for herself. 
The same tingle she remembered from last night immediately 
shot up her arm, this time even stronger. She jerked her hand 
away from the knob and stepped back, colliding with the railing 
that circled the stairwell. 
Obviously, Mrs. Harris didn’t notice Mica’s astonishment 
because when a chime sounded from below, she turned and 
walked to the top of the stairs. “Coming?” 
“Where?” Mica asked as she rubbed her hand up and down 
her jeans leg, still feeling the strange tingles from her contact 
with the doorknob. She swore she heard the rasp of a voice 
beyond the solid wood barrier. 

“Why, to breakfast, of course. We have a fascinating guest 
you’ll enjoy meeting.” 
Mica turned and followed the housekeeper. Maybe it wasn’t 
a dream at all. Regardless of what Anna thought about the door, 
last night’s incident was too vivid for Mica to put the door, and 
whatever might lie beyond it, from her mind. As a good 
homeowner, she felt it her duty to investigate any strange and 
odd occurrences. 
Mica revised her definition of strange and odd upon 
meeting Dr. Joseph Bigley, a professor from Columbia 
University. His bright blue eyes, set in a deeply tanned face, 
twinkled when he introduced himself. An abundance of fuzzy 
gray hair and bushy gray eyebrows contradicted his youthful 
face. Gray sweats completed the picture. However, his strong 
grip when she shook his hand conveyed the impression that all 
the gray didn’t mean the man was old. 
“I hope you’ll excuse my casual attire,” the professor said. 
“I thought I would forego breakfast and jog my daily five miles 
up and down the beach, but when I heard you’d arrived I wanted 
to introduce myself.” 
“I am impressed, Professor Bigley. On a good day, I can 
only jog three.” Mica allowed him to seat her, and since they 
were the only residents at the moment, she nodded for Mrs. 
Harris to commence serving. 
“Please call me Joseph. I’ve been vacationing at Sea Crest 
for many years and was a great fan of your late aunt’s. I offer 
my condolences.” Before Mica could answer, his next words 
sent her head spinning. “I hope to speak with your Aunt Theo 
again quite soon.” 
“I beg your pardon?” Mica’s eyebrows arched. Her coffee 
cup clattered back onto the saucer. 
“Oh, dear, I’m sorry. You have no idea on Earth who I am 
or why I’m here, or do you?” The last words were stated in a 
hopeful voice, as though the explanation would be difficult 
and he hoped to avoid it. 
“Professor Bigley, I only arrived yesterday, and I’m afraid 
I don’t know anything about you. But I do know my aunt died 
over two weeks ago, so I’m afraid it would be impossible for 

you to speak with her.” 
“Tsk, tsk, another skeptic,” he said. “Here, have some eggs, 
my dear, and try this delicious sausage. You’re entirely too 
skinny. It’s no wonder you can only jog three miles.” 
The professor continued eating his hearty breakfast in 
silence as Mica stared at him, her curiosity aroused by his abrupt 
change of subject. After several sighs and two cups of coffee, 
he finally acknowledged her presence again. 
“Ms Chadwick, do you believe in the paranormal?” His 
blue eyes glowed with a serious light, and Mica dared not laugh. 
“Do you mean ghosts?” 
“Yes, among other beings trapped in the netherworld 
between life and death—or between lives.” 
“Professor, I’m an attorney. I deal in fact—evidence and 
provable, material objects. I’m afraid I wouldn’t have gotten 
where I am by believing in ghosts.” 
His eyes twinkled as he laughed. “And I, Ms Chadwick, 
am a professor of psychology who has spent his life studying 
people. I’d say from the slight quiver in your voice, and your 
nervous plucking of the tablecloth, that you might not want to 
believe in them, but perhaps you’re not quite sure.” 
The image of a dark-haired, handsome man flashed across 
Mica’s mind. His warm, firm lips touching hers across the 
distance of her dream sent shivers down her spine. She reminded 
herself she was twenty-nine years old. Far too old to believe in 
dreams, much less ghosts. 
“Professor Bigley, I’m well aware of the legacy in the South 
to believe in legendary heroic ghosts from the past, but that 
doesn’t mean I believe in them,” she said, but to convince the 
professor or herself? “Please feel free to conduct your research 
at Sea Crest, but I’d prefer you do it in such a manner that you 
don’t disturb the house or grounds, or any other guests who 
might arrive.” 
His mysterious smile was back, as though he alone knew a 
secret. “I don’t intend to dig up old bones, if that’s what you’re 
thinking. The object of my research doesn’t lie buried beneath 
the earth we live on.” 
Mica eyed him, unsure how to respond. With his fuzzy 

hair and spectacles that kept slipping down his nose, he seemed 
to be an ordinary, harmless old man, but Mica shivered as 
though someone had just walked across her grave. Why did 
she have the distinct impression life would never be quite the 
same around Sea Crest? 
*** 
Early that evening Mica strolled the beach fronting Sea 
Crest. She stretched as she walked, rolling her shoulders to 
relieve the tension. The day had been spent with Anna going 
over the inn’s books and reassuring the woman that she had a 
permanent job for as long as she so desired. While Mica enjoyed 
the ocean and the restful atmosphere surrounding the resort, a 
lucrative law practice awaited her in Charleston. The time 
would come when she would have to resume her life. 
“What life?” She scoffed as she plopped down on the sand 
and stared out over the blue expanse of water. Part of a top-
notch law firm, she had great job security, considering her father 
and uncle had promised her a full partnership when she turned 
thirty. But was that what she really wanted—a nice, secure, 
responsible job? Finding loopholes for large corporations to 
take advantage of the law could not compare to the excitement 
she had always felt as a law student working for the public 
defender’s office. 
Even in the elite social circles that now drew her into their 
inner sanctum, the excitement had disappeared. The glamour 
and glitz of rubbing shoulders with Charleston’s upper crust 
and being recognized at high society parties held little appeal. 
Mica realized she didn’t need the glamour, but she did yearn 
for the excitement. She wanted to feel she made a difference. 
She turned her back to the ocean, content for the moment 
to watch the sun set behind the houses lining the shore. Sea 
Crest stood majestic among the smaller private dwellings and 
single story resorts. She was glad the island council had set 
down strict rules as to what could and could not be built here. 
She would have hated to see the trees and gardens dug up for 
some high-rise. That had been Richard’s plan when she had 
brought him here for a visit several years ago. 
The sun dropped behind the island, allowing the night to 

slowly claim the shore, just as dark thoughts of Richard Norden, 
her ex-husband, claimed Mica’s thoughts. She had thought their 
marriage would last a lifetime, even if her father had been the 
one to arrange their meeting and push her into marriage. Richard 
had been funny and bright, and most important by her father’s 
standards, he came from an upstanding Charleston family. 
In the three short years of their life together, however, 
Richard had drained his trust fund, invested in and bankrupted 
three businesses, and had started in on Mica’s savings. When 
she made it impossible for him to access her accounts, he had 
become abusive, something her parents did not know to this 
day. Her father had never understood why she divorced him, 
and her mother? Well, Mica’s mother came from a long line of 
happy marriages and couldn’t see beyond that. 
Mica rested her chin on jeans-clad knees, glad she had 
grabbed a flannel shirt to throw over her sleeveless shell because 
the breeze off the ocean became cooler as the night closed in 
around her. She closed her eyes, allowing her other senses to 
absorb the sea breeze, the tang of salt in the air, and the cry of 
a lone gull down by the water’s edge. But her mind refused to 
rest as the lulling of the waves suggested she should. 
The very characteristics her father so admired in her as a 
lawyer had been the downfall of her marriage—her 
outspokenness, her tenacity and her honesty. Richard had not 
liked her questions about his expenditures. He applauded her 
career since it put money in the bank, but at home and social 
functions, he still expected her to be a quiet, Southern lady 
with feathers for brains and no opinion of her own. 
While Mica didn’t mind being pampered once in a while, 
she didn’t want someone who bought her expensive presents 
and flowers instead of showing her love and understanding. 
And she definitely didn’t need a man who told her what her 
opinion should be. She wanted honesty, and a relationship with 
someone who could love as strongly as she could, but who 
would not try to change who she was. 
She sighed and glanced around her, realizing the lateness 
of the hour by the rise of the tide and the coolness of the night 
air. Oh, well, the tide wouldn’t come as far as where she sat, 

and no one was waiting for her and dinner at the apartment. 
For once and all, she wanted to exorcise Richard from her mind, 
just as the divorce had rid her of his presence in her life. 
As she watched residential lights wink on one by one, 
Richard’s fair face didn’t come to mind. Instead, a faint melody 
drifted across the beach, carrying the image of dark brown 
eyes, glistening black hair, and a body that was pure sensation. 
How could a dream be so real—the man, the words he spoke, 
his hard body pressed against hers in the study? 
Mica closed her eyes, her senses sharpened in the night. 
Once again she could smell the freshness of the leather-bound 
law books, feel the linen softness of his shirt, and see the twinkle 
in his eyes as the oil lamp reflected his awareness of her. 
Oil lamp? How strange that she would dream of oil lamps 
instead of electric lights. She supposed her profession would 
fill her dreams with law books, but there had been something 
peculiar about the books. What was it that now stirred 
restlessness inside her? 
She focused on a shadow shuffling along the back side of 
the inn toward her aunt’s private gardens. Shaking off thoughts 
of dream men, she rose and brushed the sand from her jeans, 
walking up the path towards the inn’s lights. 
“Professor Bigley?” Her question brought a squawk from 
the little man, who spun around to face her, clutching a metal 
box against his heaving chest. 
“Ms Chadwick, you scared the dickens out of me!” He 
gasped the words even as he shuffled the box into one arm and 
shoved his glasses back up his nose with the other shaking 
hand. 
Mica tried not to laugh, because she realized the man was 
intent on his investigations. He just didn’t look like a ghost 
buster. “I’m sorry, but what if I had been a ghost? You wouldn’t 
have heard me coming then, would you?” 
“As a matter of fact I would have, young lady. Besides, 
ghosts are not nearly as mean as people have been led to believe. 
I wouldn’t have been frightened by a ghost.” 
Mica’s arched her brows. The man really believed what he 
was doing. As though he read her mind, he held out the metal 

box in his arms. “I know you’re skeptical, so let me show you. 
This is my own design, guaranteed to pick up the beta impulses 
known to be associated with ghosts. The spirit, you might call 
it, is made up of energy, instead of basic matter like you and 
me. This energy pulsates at a phenomenal rate—too fast and 
too high-pitched for human eyes and ears to pick up.” He turned 
one of the knobs on the machine, and Mica could hear a faint 
click, click, click, like a Geiger Counter. The needles of the 
dials, however, stayed flat against one side. 
“It doesn’t appear to be working.” She tentatively reached 
a hand out and tapped a fingernail on the glass cover of one 
dial. 
“Of course not, because there are no ghosts in the vicinity. 
If there were, an alarm would go off to alert me. Then I could 
activate the camera, here, which would automatically take a 
photograph every five seconds.” 
Although Mica watched as he pointed to the devices on 
his ghost detector, she remained skeptical that it would do 
anything at all, much less photograph a ghost. “I thought you 
said the energy impulses were too fast for us to see. How can 
you photograph them?” 
“This is a special film, developed for NASA’s use. It is 
much, much more sensitive than what you or I would normally 
use.” 
“I see.” Mica didn’t, but she wouldn’t destroy the 
professor’s illusions. She cocked her head to the side. The music 
she had heard earlier drifted towards them again. It sounded 
close by, but Mica couldn’t recall a piano anywhere on the 
premises. “Do you hear that, Professor?” 
She watched him quickly adjust the knobs of his machine, 
his eyes flickering from the dials to the area around them. “I 
don’t hear anything. What do you think you hear?” 
“I hear a piano, but then, it couldn’t be played by one of 
your ghosts, could it, for your machine isn’t telling you 
anything.” She couldn’t help the laughter that crept into her 
voice. 
The professor took her joking with good humor. “Perhaps 
they aren’t out and about just yet, Ms Chadwick. Would you 

like me to come get you should I find one? After all, this is 
your residence.” 
“Thanks, but no. I don’t need part-interest in any ghosts. 
My portfolio is quite full at the moment.” 
He laughed with her. “But think of the publicity—the 
notoriety—the adventure!” 
“Good night, Professor Bigley,” Mica said as she turned 
toward the private gardens. 
“Aren’t you ready for a little adventure in your life, Ms 
Chadwick? A little excitement?” 
She didn’t answer, but kept walking, her heart pounding 
in cadence with her rapid footsteps. She stepped through the 
French doors, locking them behind her, but she could not lock 
out the echo of his question. Regardless of what she had told 
the man, she did long for an adventure. She had grown tired of 
her responsible, sensible life. But where, on sleepy little 
Cameron Island, could she possibly hope to find any 
excitement? 
As if in answer to her question, the music she had heard 
earlier rose to a crescendo before returning to a soft, haunting 
melody. She knew without doubt the source of the music lay 
directly above her, and yet hadn’t last night been a dream? 
Didn’t Mrs. Harris confirm that this afternoon when she told 
Mica the door led nowhere? 
Then why did her heart pound with anticipation? Why did 
her palms itch to touch the doorknob again, to see if the same 
electric tingle gave way to sensations she could not describe 
now that she was awake? And why, if it had all been a dream, 
did her feet lead her through the darkened corridor to the stairs? 
Her breath came in short gasps. Her hand trembled on the 
banister as she ascended the steps and turned to face the door. 
She had to know. She had to find out for herself. Was the man 
she envisioned last night a dream? Or someone real? 
The key turned in the lock, sending a frisson of excitement 
racing through Mica. The door swung open to a corridor exactly 
as she remembered from last night. Her hand trembled so badly, 
she dropped the key. As she stepped through the doorway and 
bent to retrieve it, she felt the zipper in her jeans pop. 

“Damn!” She put a hand to her stomach and turned. She 
would have to return to her room and change. But then she 
heard it—the beautiful strains of a waltz played with such 
emotion she felt wrapped in warmth and caressed by invisible, 
soothing fingers. 
Though her heart beat quicker, it wasn’t from fear, but 
from the same sense of anticipation she had felt downstairs. 
She wouldn’t go back, not now. Some inner sense told her the 
stranger waited just ahead, past the flickering wall candles to 
where the light spilled from an open doorway. 
She placed the key in her pocket and pulled the door shut 
behind her. Pulling her flannel shirt closed to cover her broken 
zipper, she stepped down the hall and into the room. Her gaze 
focused on the man, elegantly attired in a black tuxedo, though 
his tie hung askew and his jacket had been left abandoned in 
the center of the floor. 
He sat at a grand piano, his head thrown back, eyes closed, 
oblivious to everything around him. His body swayed with the 
rhythm. Mica found her gaze mesmerized by the stroke of his 
long, tan fingers across the keys. He didn’t play the piano. He 
seduced it, coaxing sounds from the instrument and becoming 
part of the music he created. 
Wild thoughts took flight with the music. Her skin tingled 
at the thought of his hands caressing her skin, bringing her to a 
fevered pitch. Together reaching the ultimate pinnacle. She was 
so wrapped up in passionate thought, she didn’t realize the 
music had stopped until he spoke. 
“I wondered if you would appear for me again tonight.” 
He swung around to straddle the bench, and Mica noted 
that his black vest and the starched white shirt beneath it were 
opened to his waist. She had an unobstructed view of his 
muscular chest, lightly sprinkled with dark hair. She leaned 
against the doorjamb, not sure her legs would support her. His 
gaze was more intense than she remembered, his shoulders 
broader, and his smile just as inviting. 
“Who are you, lovely lady?” His voice seduced her as surely 
as though he touched her. 
“Michaela.” She, Michaela Marie Chadwick, renowned 

attorney who could convince a jury her client was innocent by 
her adept use of the English language, couldn’t think of anything 
more to say than her name. 
“I know your name, Michaela Marie.” Her name flowed 
from his lips like the music he played. “But who are you? And 
why are you dressed as a farm hand? You could not possibly 
hide your femininity beneath trousers and a man’s shirt.” As 
he spoke, he reached high, arching his back and flexing his 
arms to stretch his muscles. It was enough to make Mica’s 
heart stop. 
“Who are you?” She might have convinced herself she 
wanted an adventure, but this man, so blatantly sexual and 
seemingly unaware of it, could end up being more than she 
bargained for. It would be best to find out more about him, and 
how he came to be at Sea Crest. 
He grinned at her as he unwound his long legs from the 
bench and walked towards her, all fluid grace and elegance. “I 
do apologize, my dear lady.” He gently took her hand and lifted 
it to his lips, giving her a bow that came so naturally, Mica 
would have thought him a member of the cast of Gone With 
the Wind. “T. Logan Rutledge, your dutiful servant.” 
The elegance of his words, the gentleness of his gestures, 
touched a chord deep within Mica, and she almost curtsied in 
return. Her face flushed when she glanced down at her attire. 
While she had never been concerned with fashion, she suddenly 
felt terribly out of place. He laughed at her frown, touching 
her shirt collar’s soft flannel. 
“At least you are comfortable.” He spread his arms and 
gestured at the layers of clothes he wore. “I have had to torture 
myself with a tight tie and too many layers of hot cloth. All 
this for the unenviable delight of having Miss Sophie 
Wainwright, trussed up like a peacock in monstrous feathers 
and ruffles of satin, try to break my eardrums.” 
She laughed with him. She couldn’t help herself. He painted 
a picture as vivid as his music. He captured her hand, and when 
he tugged, she followed him to an old-fashioned settee against 
one wall of the enormous room. 
“You have a delightful laugh, Michaela Marie. Your eyes 

sparkle, and your whole face glows.” 
She sat facing him, close enough so he didn’t have to release 
her hand. Close enough she could feel his heat and the raw 
male magnetism surrounding him like some mystical aura. She 
tried to concentrate on what he was saying. 
“T. Logan Rutledge.” She repeated his name. “That doesn’t 
tell me much about you.” 
“One night I find you in my study, wearing little more than 
silk unmentionables and a very seductive smile. Now, here you 
are again, this time with more cloth covering your curves, but 
with eyes holding a secret and lips begging to be kissed. Why 
must you waste time talking?” As he spoke, he traced her lips 
with his thumb, his other arm sliding across the back of the 
couch to rest on her shoulders. Just when Mica thought he would 
kiss her, he turned, stretching his legs out in front of him and 
clasping his hands behind his head. 
“What would you like to know?” His eyes and voice were 
full of laughter, and again Mica found herself smiling. 
Even in the tension of just moments before, she felt 
comfortable with this man she barely knew. But now he had 
given her the opportunity to remedy that. Trying not to sound 
like a lawyer in cross-examination, she said simply, “Tell me 
everything.” 
“Do you have a lifetime or two to spend on a very boring 
recitation? I dare say after five minutes, you’ll wish to be at 
Miss Sophie’s instead.” 
Mica turned and sat cross-legged on the couch, propping 
her elbows on her knees and chin in her hands. The action 
brought his black brows together in a frown. 
“You are not exactly the conventional lady, are you?” 
It was her turn to smile, turning his earlier comments back 
on him. “After I have listened to your story, perhaps I will tell 
you mine. However, it will require the same diligent attention 
and length of time, I assure you.” 
Mica suddenly felt lighthearted and free, as though the 
restrictions placed on her by family and society all her life 
were no longer there. The invisible bonds, which had dictated 
how she spoke, dressed and behaved, suddenly didn’t matter 

at all. 
Logan sat there, staring at her as though he wanted to devour 
her. There was that word again. Mica’s stomach flip-flopped. 
She swallowed to ease her throat’s dryness, then spoke. 
“Mrs. Harris said the door wouldn’t—” 
“And who is Mrs. Harris?” 
“The housekeeper at Sea Crest, of course.” 
“So, you live at Sea Crest. You’re not visiting Mattie?” 
“Who’s Mattie?” 
He mimicked her. “The housekeeper at Indigo Bay, of 
course.” He laughed with her, his rich chuckle reaching across 
the short distance to caress Mica’s senses. “I am certainly glad 
we have established the servant’s hierarchy.” 
“But no one knows you’re here. It was only by accident 
that I followed the voices last night.” 
“Ah, last night. You must have heard me arguing with my 
stepbrother, Neil. If word of my arrival had to be slow, I wish 
it had not reached him quite yet. I would have liked to reestablish 
my father’s accounts and reacquaint myself with the 
workers, firmly establishing myself in control of Indigo Bay 
before I had to deal with him.” 
That explained a lot, Mica thought. While she couldn’t 
recall her aunt ever referring to any part of Sea Crest as Indigo 
Bay, she supposed if Logan leased this part as his private 
residence, he could call it what he wanted. That also meant 
there would be no need for the other employees of the inn to be 
concerned about it. Apparently Mrs. Harris, who was fairly 
new herself, didn’t know about Logan because he had only 
recently arrived. But it was odd that her aunt wouldn’t have 
told her about the man. 
Logan reached over to tuck a strand of her hair behind her 
ear. The intimate gesture was so natural, Mica tilted her head 
towards his fingers without conscious thought. She forgot for 
a moment how strange their circumstances were. She felt 
comfortable and secure here. Peace stole over her as effectively 
as Logan’s husky voice soothed her. 
“I do not want to discuss my hot-tempered stepbrother, or 
either of our gossipy housekeepers. I want to know about you— 

what do you do when you’re not spying on me at night or 
wearing outlandish clothes?” 
Mica couldn’t take offense at his mention of her 
trespassing, because she had come into his quarters 
unannounced. “At the moment, I’m on vacation. My aunt, well 
actually, my great-great aunt, bequeathed Sea Crest to me when 
she died. While I don’t know the first thing about managing it, 
I decided to spend some time here.” 
“I’m not familiar with Sea Crest, nor your aunt...?” 
“Theodora Josephine Ashley.” Mica had to smile when she 
said the name, knowing her aunt wouldn’t like to be introduced, 
even in a conversation, as Aunt Theo. “Sea Crest has been in 
the family since before the Civil War.” 
“Civil War? I am definitely familiar with that term, 
especially with a stepbrother such as Neil,” Logan snorted. 
Mica thought his comment odd, but his fingers, which had 
lazily circled her ear, now slid to the back of her neck. It took 
little effort on his part to pull her towards him. During the 
entire time he had talked, she had wondered why he didn’t put 
those lips to better use! 
His breath, warm and tinged with the scent of mint, caressed 
her cheek as his lips touched her skin. “I don’t want to discuss 
families or plantations or housekeeping staff anymore. I want 
to know about you.” 
“But I was telling you about me.” 
“There are other ways of learning about a person besides 
talking.” He pulled her closer. And Mica didn’t resist. His voice 
had spun a silken web about her, and she found herself willingly 
trapped in his embrace. His lips touched her brow, and she 
sighed, realizing she had been holding her breath in anticipation 
of his kiss. But even as he kissed along her eyebrows, down 
the bridge of her nose and across her jaw, she craved more. 
Logan felt her moan vibrate through his body. Her heat 
combined with his own to fan the flames of the fire she had 
started last night. He had been delighted when she appeared, 
as though by magic, at the door to the conservatory, for he had 
spent the entire day trying to find her. Mattie had no visiting 
relatives, and though he had only been back at Indigo Bay for 

two weeks, he thought he knew most of the people in the 
immediate area. 
For now, it didn’t matter where she had come from. She 
was here in his arms. He couldn’t explain the attraction he had 
felt last night, nor the intense sense of loss when he had returned 
to the study to find she had disappeared. Her seductive green 
eyes held secrets he longed to discover, and in her kisses he 
detected an untapped wealth of passion. 
Michaela Marie consisted of more than physical desire, he 
knew, but for now, he would content himself with the 
exploration of her lush curves and smooth, silky skin. He quit 
teasing her with butterfly kisses and finally captured her mouth 
with his. The intensity of her response caught him unaware 
and totally unprepared for the heat racing like wildfire through 
his blood. 
As if he had waited a lifetime for her to come to him, 
unspent passion now simmered just below the surface. His hand 
moved inside her shirt to cup her breast, the weight and fullness 
of it just right in his hand. His thumb flicked across her nipple, 
which stood rigid against the cotton of her chemise. He groaned 
as his lips left hers, not wanting their kiss to end, but knowing 
he had to taste her. 
He heard her faint whimpers of desire as his lips wove an 
erotic path down her neck to the curve of material covering the 
treasure he sought. His hand pushed the material up over her 
flat stomach. Her skin was hot to the touch, on fire as surely as 
his own. He groaned as he cupped her breast, his hand large 
and brown against her delicate beauty. 
“God, you’re beautiful. I’ve waited my whole life for you 
to come along.” He kissed her breast before he flicked his 
tongue to tease her nipple erect. 
Awash with emotions foreign to her systematic, orderly 
existence, Mica couldn’t reply. Never in her wildest imaginings 
would she have thought kissing could be so erotic. Logan kissed 
her as though he had spent a lifetime perfecting the art, and 
Mica found herself more than willing to let him practice on 
her. That is, until he once again asked her to stay. 
“Stay here tonight, with me,” he whispered against her 

throat. 
She pushed against his chest, struggling to pull her tank 
top back into place. While he allowed her to regain her modesty, 
he didn’t move far from her side. 
“No, I can’t stay here. It’s just not possible.” 
“But why not? You said you own Sea Crest, so I assume 
you’ve reached your majority. Is there someone waiting to take 
you home? I’ll have Simon...” 
“No!” Since he had just recently moved to the area, he 
must not realize how close she lived, and she wasn’t going to 
tell him. The less he knew about her the better. If she didn’t 
want to pursue a relationship, she would prefer he not know 
how to find her. She cleared her throat. “May I have a glass of 
water, please?” 
The scowl that had brought his dark brows together 
instantly cleared. His eyes twinkled, and straight white teeth 
flashed in a grin. He stood and walked to a wall table that 
Mica had failed to notice earlier. “Would you prefer brandy or 
sherry?” 
“No, water, please.” She stood and moved to the end of the 
couch, ready to make a run for it when he left the room to fetch 
the water. 
“Well, you are indeed fortunate. Just today, I had Simon 
put water decanters in all the rooms.” He handed her a crystal 
glass, the smile never leaving his face. He sat lightly on the 
arm of the couch, one leg braced on the floor, the other bent 
with his foot on the cushion. Mica idly thought he should have 
more respect for the antique settee. 
“Simon?” She clutched the glass, because her hand shook 
and her voice cracked. She hated the squeak in her voice, and 
the fact she had reverted back to one-word sentences. No man 
had ever put her on the defensive so quickly. 
“Are we back to that, again? Simon is my butler, who is 
married to Mattie, my housekeeper, remember? Tomorrow 
morning, I will introduce you to the entire staff, from the 
gardener and stable boy on up.” He rose and moved towards 
her. “But tonight, you are mine alone. I do not wish to share 
you with anyone.” 

He reached to take her glass, and Mica panicked. She could 
think of only one thing to do—an old trick, but usually effective. 
“Damn!” Logan jumped back as she knocked his glass of 
brandy and it spilled onto his shirtfront. 
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. Let me get a towel.” She stepped 
towards the door, but he grabbed her wrist. His eyes twinkled 
with amusement, as though he guessed her game. 
“It won’t hurt a thing. Leave it.” He pulled her closer, his 
words soft and not the least angry over her clumsiness. 
Mica’s gaze fell to his chest, where golden droplets of 
brandy glistened among the dark hair. She pinched her lips 
tightly together to repress the sudden desire to lick the drops 
away with her tongue. 
Logan’s warm hand gently cupped her chin and tilted her 
face until she met his gaze. His brandy-tinged kiss, this time 
seductive and leisurely, still held a promise of passion. 
She pulled away from him with reluctance. “I’ll get a towel 
so it doesn’t stain.” She stepped back so they no longer touched, 
but she still felt as though they did. A reproachful look entered 
his eyes, and she added a promise she didn’t know if she could 
keep. “I’ll be back.” 
This time when she closed the door behind her, she pulled 
the key from the lock. She couldn’t have said whether it was to 
keep Logan from following her, or to keep anyone at the inn 
from finding out about him. Her hand trembled as it closed 
around the cold metal. Her fist continued to shake when she 
pushed it against her pounding heart. 

Three
Several things about T. Logan Rutledge didn’t add up, and 
Mica swore she would get to the bottom of the mystery. At 
least that’s what she told herself as she jogged down the deserted 
beach early that morning. 
Last night as he kissed her and touched her, she could have 
cared less about any mystery. She couldn’t seem to think straight 
when in the same vicinity as he. She recalled the soft glow of 
candlelight on the black sheen of his hair, and the heat of his 
body, which rivaled the moist warmth of the night air coming 
through the open balcony doors. 
Candlelight? No air conditioning? And what about all those 
antiques? 
She tried to rationalize the unusual circumstances. 
Candlelight was romantic, though he couldn’t have known she 
would come to see him again. The night was cool enough to 
forego air conditioning, and many houses in the area were full 
of antiques. Sea Crest had its share of them, though some were 
reproductions. She suspected that some of Logan’s could be, 
too. Much of the original furniture had been sold off sometime 
in the past to pay for upkeep. She knew that much from stories 
her aunt had told. 
Mica came to a stop at the back gate, bending slowly at 
the waist several times as she brought her breathing back to 
normal. As she headed back to her apartment, she admitted 
that she could play the devil’s advocate all day and still have 
no answers. She draped a towel around her neck and grabbed a 
mug of coffee from her small kitchen before she skirted the 
breakfast room and slipped unnoticed out the inn’s front door. 
She walked several yards past the circle drive to where the 

lane just began its curve. She turned around to face the house. 
Sipping her coffee, she squinted against the morning sun that 
had risen above the roof. She stepped several yards to the left, 
then slowly walked back to the right, never taking her gaze off 
the building. 
At one time, she had thought about being a mechanical 
engineer. Now she realized why her grades in high school 
drafting had indicated she find another career. She couldn’t for 
the life of her picture the layout of the Sea Crest’s upstairs 
from looking at the outside structure. The inn appeared much 
larger from the outside than when she had toured it. However, 
she had no way of knowing the size of individual guest rooms. 
That could explain the difference in size. 
“There you are, Ms. Chadwick.” Mrs. Harris said, 
interrupting Mica’s thoughts. “I was just telling the Barkers 
you may have already left for the day.” 
“I will be gone soon. Are they the Barkers?” Mica added 
in a whisper, nodding toward the odd-looking couple who 
followed some distance behind her manager. 
Mrs. Harris glanced over her shoulder before whispering 
back, “They’re our newest guests, and they have a rather 
strange request. I told them they would have to speak with 
you.” 
“You’re the manager and would normally handle this if I 
weren’t here, wouldn’t you?” Mica was reluctant to get involved 
with any of the inn’s lodgers. Besides, there were things she 
wanted to do—the most important to investigate the mysterious 
Mr. Rutledge. “Speaking of guests, what can you tell me 
about—”? 
“Hello, hello, I’m Harold Barker, and this is my wife, 
Nadine.” The short, rotund man grabbed Mica’s hand and 
vigorously pumped it up and down while waving the other in 
the general direction of his wife. Mica had no time to introduce 
herself before the woman stepped forward. 
“Harold, please dear,” she said, patting her husband on 
the arm. Mica couldn’t see that the man had done anything 
wrong, so she supposed the wife just liked to be in charge. 
When Mrs. Barker turned her attention to Mrs. Harris and 

Mica, Mica picked up on the condescension in her voice. “I 
don’t see why it’s necessary to tell everyone in creation what 
we are about. However, since your manager felt we should 
speak directly with you, well, here we are. Now, do you have a 
problem with that?” 
Mica switched her gaze from the wife to the husband and 
back. Nadine Barker was as tall and thin as her husband was 
short and fat, and her dyed red hair was in sharp contrast with 
his bald pate. While Mr. Barker shifted from foot to foot and 
worried his shirt collar with a pudgy finger, his wife glared 
down her nose at Mica with arrogant self-assurance. 
Mrs. Harris shrugged her shoulders when Mica glanced 
her way, as though to say she had no idea what the woman was 
talking about. Mica decided to play the diplomat and try to get 
rid of the couple as quickly as possible. 
“Welcome to Sea Crest, Mr. and Mrs. Barker. I hope you 
enjoy your stay.” That was innocent enough. 
“See, Harold, I told you there wouldn’t be a problem, but 
no, you had to try to tell all.” The woman blustered openly to 
her mate, whose suddenly flushed face matched the dark red 
of his shirt. 
“But, dear, you didn’t tell her anything yet.” Obviously 
henpecked, Mr. Barker ducked his head after he spoke, as 
though a blow would follow his words. 
“Of course I did, and she said we were welcome.” The 
woman turned on a sandal-clad heel towards the inn. 
Mica tried to be polite as she said, “Excuse me. I did 
welcome you to Sea Crest, but can I ask about the nature—” 
“Of course, I suppose you must know something of our 
business,” Mrs. Barker interrupted. “I assure you it’s legal, 
and when we find the treasure, it will legally be ours, even if it 
is somewhere on the island.” 
“Treasure?” Oh, great, just what Mica needed in her life 
right now! Not only did she have Professor Bigley looking for 
ghosts, now she had a couple of fortune hunters invading her 
aunt’s sanctum. 
“See, she didn’t know anything about it,” the husband 
stated. 

“Of course she knows. You told her first thing, but the fact 
remains it will be ours.” 
Mica found it curious that the woman talked to her husband 
as though he were a child. She used her no-nonsense attorney 
voice to quell their bickering. “I think I can clear this up quickly 
and you can go about your business. As long as you are guests 
at Sea Crest, you will be treated hospitably and left to your 
privacy. However, I shall expect you to follow the same rules 
as the other guests.” 
“And those are?” 
The haughty angle of the woman’s nose and her demeanor 
grated on Mica’s nerves, and she had to remind herself they 
were guests. “Simply that you respect other guests’ property 
and privacy concerning your activities. This is a small, quiet 
community, and the neighbors won’t tolerate mischief. 
Although the beach is public, the property around Sea Crest is 
private, and you won’t be able to dig for treasure. Even on the 
beach, you’ll have to observe the posted rules.” 
“But the treasure isn’t on the beach. The journal clearly 
states—” 
“Harold!” It was obvious Mrs. Barker didn’t want Mr. 
Barker divulging any more of their secret, and that was just 
fine with Mica. She had other things on her mind at the moment. 
“Mrs. Harris, if you would be so kind as to show this 
charming couple to their room?” Mica applied all the Southern 
charm she had learned, then forgotten, in modeling class. She 
had effectively dismissed the annoying couple, but she’d 
managed to do it with such grace they smiled at her as they 
turned to leave. 
She watched as poor Harold took two steps for every one 
of his wife’s, his head down in abject apology as she ranted 
and raved at him for heaven only knew what. 
She shook her head. A ghost-hunting professor and a 
treasure-hunting odd couple. She couldn’t wait to tell Logan 
about the strange people populating her side of the inn. 
Now why had she thought of that? Wanting to share part 
of her life with him indicated she had some feelings for him. 
Mica didn’t know enough about Logan to justify what she felt 

when around him. 
She mentally put herself back on track as she retraced her 
steps, slipping through the private gate to the gardens, and then 
through the sliding doors. She definitely didn’t want to run 
into the Barkers. 
In less than an hour, she had showered and changed into a 
colorful broomstick skirt and blouse, brushed her hair and 
pulled it up with a clip in the back. 
As she dropped into the front seat of her car, she decided 
the local historical society might have some information about 
the island community, since all the homes dated back to before 
the turn of the twentieth century. While she knew they wouldn’t 
have architectural drawings and floor plans, perhaps she could 
dig up an old photograph or two, or some kind of document 
referring to Sea Crest as Indigo Bay. The strange name by 
which Logan referred to her home stuck in her mind. It was 
almost as though she had heard it referred to as such before. 
She drove across the causeway, the only road linking the 
island with the mainland. The recently repaired black asphalt 
sent the August heat waves up in front of her, and Mica reached 
into her purse for her sunglasses. She laid on the horn when an 
erratic driver braked in front of her then turned left from the 
right lane. It appeared the small town of Cameron had become 
overpopulated, for the roads were already congested with 
traffic. 
When she finally arrived at the museum, she idly thought 
about turning around and going back, suddenly in no mood to 
talk to curators about architecture. But since she was already 
there, she fervently hoped she could find the information she 
needed. Otherwise, she would have to make a trip that she knew 
would end badly. 
*** 
Why wasn’t anything easy? Mica slowly rotated her head, 
trying to relieve the tension that had built at the back of her 
neck during her four-hour search at the museum. She hadn’t 
found what she needed, so her only other source of information 
was her parents. 
She drove south on Highway 17 without paying any 

attention to the scenery. While she knew she shouldn’t dread 
seeing her parents, they would make her visit difficult. Her 
father would ask her to return to work, and her mother would 
mention Richard. She could have put off this trip to another 
day, but she had a fascination for history and mysteries. 
And, of course, she couldn’t forget her simmering attraction 
for Logan. She didn’t want to be away from Sea Crest for even 
one evening and miss the chance to see him. He was the mystery 
she would like to solve. This morning, she had started to ask 
Mrs. Harris about him when the Barkers had interrupted. In a 
way, Mica was glad, because at this point, she wasn’t sure she 
wanted to share her thoughts of Logan with anyone else. 
Finding out about Logan wasn’t easy. If the lady at the 
Historical Society had been more helpful, Mica wouldn’t have 
to make this trip. However, very few records prior to the Civil 
War remained intact. They had located only one reference, in 
an old ship’s log, to an off-coast island named Indigo Bay. 
Other than that, the historical documents referred to Sea 
Crest and the homes on the island simply as retreats. Apparently, 
families used the island to get away from bouts of malaria that 
periodically spread through the plantations. Mica hoped her 
mother still had Grandmother’s old letters and family Bible. 
That might be her only hope for information at this point. 
She stopped by her apartment for her mail and did a little 
shopping, purposely dragging out the rest of the afternoon. She 
didn’t arrive at her parents until well after four in the afternoon. 
Though she had packed a bag, if she could help it she didn’t 
intend to stay the night. 
“Michaela, dear, what a pleasant surprise!” Her mother’s 
lilting voice reached her as she slid the verandah doors open. 
“Come give your mother a kiss.” 
Mica dutifully bent and pecked her mother’s cheek before 
slipping into a chair on the other side of the glass-topped patio 
table. As her mother finished addressing an envelope—probably 
an invitation to another of her famous cocktail parties—Mica 
took time to observe her. The sun picked up the silver highlights 
in her black hair, but somehow it didn’t detract from her 
youthful appearance. At fifty-four years old, Karen Chadwick 

was still a very pretty woman. 
The pink dress she wore accented her creamy complexion, 
and Mica suddenly could not recall ever seeing her mother in 
jeans and a sweatshirt. A descendant of an old Charleston 
family, she still clung to the Southern ideals of ladies, and 
prestige, and the social stratum. It wasn’t that her mother 
flaunted their wealth or snubbed those without membership to 
the Country Club. It was just her way to be the genteel “lady of 
the manor.” 
Mica poured herself a glass of iced tea and tried to decide 
how best to broach Sea Crest with her mother. If she asked too 
many questions, Karen would become suspicious and want to 
know exactly why Mica wanted the information. She needn’t 
have worried, for her mother gave her the perfect opening. 
“How are things up at Sea Crest, dear? Are you enjoying 
your little sojourn?” She couldn’t use a simple word like 
vacation. 
“Sea Crest is as beautiful as ever, Mother. Visiting has 
made me interested in some of the history of the place. I was 
hoping you still had some of Grandmother ’s or Great-
grandmother’s correspondence or journals. I’d like to see if 
they wrote about it and the previous owners.” 
“Sea Crest has always belonged in the family. On the 
maternal side, of course. Why would you think there had ever 
been any other owner?” Just the tone of her mother’s question 
put Mica on guard. 
“No reason, really. I was just curious as to when some of 
the other homes were built, and when the island started being 
sold off. Surely we have some old letters or something?” 
Her mother tapped a manicured finger against her cheek. 
“Well, Grandmother, Aunt Theo and I sorted through so much 
stuff about twenty years ago and donated it to the Charleston 
Historical Society. After all, we can trace our roots back to one 
of the first families to settle in Charleston, you know.” 
Mica groaned. “Of course.” She had been brought up on 
her mother’s stories of ancestry and knew them all by heart. 
“There may still be some old letters up in the attic in a 
trunk. I’ll try to remember to have your father bring it down 

one of these days, if you promise to visit again. You know, you 
don’t spend very much time here, even when you’re in the city. 
I still think it entirely too frivolous for you to have an apartment 
when we have so much room. Of course, it was different when 
you and Richard were married.” 
Mica could feel a headache coming on. 
“How is Richard?” Her mother asked. “Have you spoken 
to him?” 
“No.” Why should I? Mica kept that thought to herself. 
“Well, he did call, and said he would go up to Sea Crest 
this week.” 
“You told him where I was?” Something close to panic 
closed around Mica’s throat, and she swallowed hard to relieve 
the tightness. 
“Don’t yell, dear. Of course I told him. You can’t reconcile 
your differences if you don’t talk to him.” 
“We’re divorced, Mother. I don’t want to reconcile any 
differences!” 
Her mother huffed, sitting up very straight and giving Mica 
that I-know-what’s-good-for-you look. “It’s not like he found 
someone...had an...” 
“An affair, Mother?” Mica had learned at an early age that 
one didn’t speak about sex with her mother or politics with her 
father. Just to agitate her, Mica stated, “There are reasons other 
than adultery for getting a divorce. I think I would have 
preferred it if he had screwed someone else rather than doing it 
to me financially.” 
As predicted, her mother gasped. “Michaela Marie! Don’t 
speak that way in this house.” 
Mica was saved from a response when Lucy, the 
Chadwick’s housekeeper, came out on the verandah. She had 
Mica’s bundle of mending in her arms. 
“Whatever did you do to your clothes, Miss Michaela? 
These things are chewed up!” Lucy held up Mica’s jeans and 
silk pajamas. 
“I didn’t exactly break my zipper or pop my buttons on 
purpose, Lucy.” Lucy had been in the Chadwick household 
since Mica was born, and had patched up not only her clothes 

but also her scraped knees and bruised pride more than once. 
“Break? Pop? There ain’t no zipper anymore—the teeth 
are done gone! And how’d you lose buttons when the thread’s 
all nice and tight in these little loops? Both buttons broke in 
the middle?” 
Mica would have examined her garments, but her father 
joined them at that moment. Lucy just clucked her tongue and 
turned back to the house. 
“Ah, the wanderer has returned,” her father greeted her. “I 
knew it wouldn’t take a month for you to get yourself 
straightened around. Good thing, too, for the Sanderson’s case 
is on the docket for next week.” 
“I only came for a visit, Father.” Mica couldn’t let him 
jump to conclusions. “I’m not ready for work yet.” 
“What?” His gray eyebrows came together in the middle 
as he scowled first at Mica then her mother, who gave a slight 
shake of her head as she patted his hand. It had been her 
mother’s silent I’ll tell you later signal for years. Mica still 
reddened with embarrassment, just as she had when her father 
hadn’t understood about cramps, bras, and boyfriends. 
He cleared his throat. “Well, get it fixed, whatever it is, 
and come back to work.” 
Mica wondered how easy it would be to fix having the 
unbidden image of Logan in her mind, or to erase the urgency 
she felt to return to Sea Crest and see him again. 
“And how is Richard?” Her father’s question brought 
another rapid shake of the head and hand patting from her 
mother. He jerked his hand free and said with a frown, “Be 
damned if I’ll be quiet, Karen.” 
To Mica, he added, “He deserves more time, Michaela. 
He’ll change if he has you backing him. But then, you’d better 
get yourself straightened out, too. We have too many big cases 
for you to be gone too long. We need your smile and soft voice 
to sway the jury and—” 
“Father, I’m twenty-nine years old and can manage my 
own life!” She hadn’t meant to yell, because she knew her father 
didn’t understand how talking about Richard upset her. He and 
her mother had married when vows meant forever, and they 

were still very much in love. She softened her voice with a 
smile. “Besides, as an esteemed attorney, you should be 
ashamed trying to use my looks and sweet, honey drawl on 
unsuspecting jurors.” She rose as she spoke and bent to give 
him a kiss. As gruff and unbending as her father had always 
been, she still loved him dearly. “Have to go. I promised Katie 
I’d be there for dinner.” 
“What? You can’t mean to leave before dinner?” Her 
mother sighed. 
“You weren’t expecting me, and I know how Lucy cooks. 
Next time, I promise I’ll call first and stay longer.” Mica hugged 
her mother, reminding her to check on the old letters. 
She breathed a huge sigh of relief as she slipped into her 
car. Her parents were dear, sweet people, but when would they 
let her run her own life? Pointing her car north once again, she 
made a mental note to call Katie that evening so she could 
vouch for her lie. 
*** 
Mica maneuvered her way into the apartment at Sea Crest 
with her bag and purse over a shoulder, a pizza in one hand 
and keys in the other. She grinned at the note Mrs. Harris had 
left stuck to her door. It seemed Sea Crest’s guests had a minor 
confrontation on the beach that day. Professor Bigley’s ghost 
monitoring machine and the Barker’s metal detector set each 
other off. 
Mrs. Harris’ scribbled message indicated she would give 
Mica the details tomorrow, if she wanted them. However, the 
Island Beach Patrol had put an end to their argument before it 
escalated to a fistfight between the Professor and Mrs. Barker. 
Oh, boy! Although she wasn’t personally responsible for 
her guests, Mica felt she should probably say something to 
them. She chuckled at the thought of Mrs. Barker beating up 
the poor Professor. 
Mica flipped the remote control as she ate pizza, disgusted 
with the lack of good programming. She grumbled to herself 
as she cleared away her supper plate and tidied the apartment. 
Her stomach churned, and her palms became sweaty as she 
rearranged some books on a shelf, just about knocking over a 

fragile figurine. 
“What in blue blazes is wrong with you?” She spoke the 
question out loud, but already knew the answer. 
She wanted a sign—something to tell her Logan was 
upstairs—just as his voice and music had the previous two 
nights. Tonight, however, no sound drifted in through the open 
windows. No haunting melody beckoned her forth. Did she 
again dare invade his residence without an invitation? 
He had been on her mind the entire trip back from 
Charleston, and she realized she wanted to see him. No, she 
had to see him again, just as she had to breathe and eat to 
survive. It wasn’t just to erase the thoughts of Richard that her 
parents had forced to the surface. 
Logan had accepted her in his life with few questions asked. 
Her clothes hadn’t mattered, and he hadn’t even cared what 
she did or where she came from. His gentle words and interest 
in her were so different from the attention she had received 
from the other men in her life. 
Mica looked down at her skirt and blouse. At least she 
would look more like a respectable woman, instead of having 
Logan see her as he had before—first in pajamas then in jeans. 
“You said it didn’t matter to him,” she taunted her reflection 
in the mirror. 
“It doesn’t,” she answered, but nevertheless she ran a brush 
through her hair before grabbing the key and hurrying from 
her apartment. 
Moving soundlessly through the upper hallway, Mica 
cringed as the key grated in the lock. She glanced over her 
shoulder at the other doors, but since it was early the other 
guests must still be out for dinner. It simply would not do for 
anyone to see her sneaking around like a thief in the night. 
The now familiar tingle shot up her arm as she turned the 
knob to let herself into Logan’s residence. A quiver of 
anticipation pumped adrenaline through her system, and her 
heart pounded in her chest. She knew it was more than the 
excitement of doing something no one else knew about. This 
nervousness could be directly attributed to the prospect of 
seeing Logan. While he seemed to want to advance their 

relationship faster than Mica could handle, it hadn’t precluded 
her from wanting to see him again. 
Discouragement slowed her footsteps as she checked the 
library, and then the music room. There were low burning lamps 
in each, but no sign of Logan. Well, what did she expect, coming 
in unannounced at such an early hour? A man as handsome as 
Logan surely had dates. It might be hours before he came home. 
And he might not be alone. Disappointment clouded her vision 
as she turned to retrace her steps to the door. 
Suddenly, her gaze landed on a closed door. It was a room 
she had not been in before, and it seemed to beckon to her. She 
turned the knob to find it unlocked. Every law she had ever 
studied flashed through her head, but none of the statutes she 
was about to break could have made her release the door and 
leave without investigating. 
The instant she stepped over the threshold she knew Logan 
slept here. She could feel his very essence surrounding her— 
his after-shave, the strictly male feel of the place. Heavy 
draperies were open to allow the evening breezes through, along 
with a sliver of moonlight. A chair sat by the fireplace and a 
desk was positioned near the windows. 
Mica trailed a hand across the counterpane, which was 
light colored but not frilly. She thought the furnishings looked 
old, but then they fit in with the rest of the decor. Dreamily she 
leaned against one of the posters, trying to imagine Logan asleep 
on that bed, his beautiful hair mussed, his lips parted as he 
dreamed. 
Did he dream of her? If so, were his dreams as erotic as 
hers had been the past two nights? She straightened and shook 
herself, knowing beyond doubt she should leave. Not only 
wasn’t Logan here, but her thoughts were definitely getting 
away from her better judgment. 
“I’ll be down for something to eat as soon as I bathe. We 
kept the fire contained to the ...” Logan’s voice carried down 
the hall, but Mica couldn’t move fast enough to hide. 
Suddenly, he stood in the doorway, and Mica couldn’t be 
certain who was more surprised. His hands clutched his open 
shirt, pulled halfway out of his pants and covered with black 

soot. His arms and face were completely black. Had it not been 
for his voice, Mica would never have recognized him. She 
swallowed. He didn’t look pleased to see her this time. 
“Well, Michaela Marie, so you do keep your promises.” 
He walked right past her to another door, and Mica could hear 
water splashing. Before she could slip out of the room, he 
returned, this time bare-chested and with some of the soot wiped 
from his face. “When you said you would be back, I didn’t 
realize you meant not until the next day.” 
His sarcasm stung her like a blow, but she couldn’t find it 
in herself to walk away. In fact, she couldn’t look away from 
his gloriously muscled chest that heaved with righteous 
indignation. Her palms itched with the need to calm his agitation 
with a caress. No, she wanted to touch him to try and calm her 
own feverish state. 
She took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry. It’s just that 
things were moving so fast. You were...I haven’t been divo...” 
She groaned. Once again he turned her mind to mush. He stood 
not three feet from her, clad only in his trousers and smelling 
strongly of smoke, and all Mica wanted was to wrap her arms 
around him and kiss him and beg his forgiveness. All her 
recently found self-assurance flew right out the window. She 
took a step forward, but his next words halted her. 
“If you’re a married lady, I suggest you leave right now. I 
prefer not to have my life ended by some cuckolded husband.” 
“I’m not married.” She spoke the words softly. 
“You say you are from Sea Crest, but all the other 
plantations are across the bay. I doubt you could walk there at 
night, so where the hell have you been, and why do you keep 
disappearing?” The last words reached Mica’s ears as an 
exasperated shout. 
Remnants of arguments with Richard flashed through her 
mind, finally lifting her mental fog and spurring her into action. 
Why had she thought this man different from any other man? 
They all wanted to dominate, and she refused to give them 
total control. 
Without a word she turned on her heel and stormed towards 
the door. This time she would make sure the key she felt in her 

pocket became permanently welded in the lock. 
“Wait.” His touch on her arm was electrifying—the heat 
from his hand instantly melting her anger. When she did not 
turn around, he stepped closer, running both hands up and down 
her arms. The heat turned to goose bumps then back to fire, 
burning through her back as he pulled her against his chest. 
“I’m sorry.” The two words, whispered against her hair, 
completely unraveled her. They weren’t what she was used to 
from the men in her life. 
Logan circled her with his arms, knowing he would 
probably ruin her clothes but wanting to feel her against him— 
to know she was real and had returned yet again to see him. He 
could no longer smell the smoke from the fire. Instead he 
breathed in the clean, lemony scent of her hair, felt the soft 
curves of her body as she relaxed against him. 
God, she made him crazy! Here one minute, gone the next 
without a trace. He hadn’t meant to shout at her. His anger 
reflected his frustration at being unable to locate her though he 
had searched throughout the day. He knew so little about her, 
and yet when she softened in his arms like this, there was 
nothing else he wanted to know. 
He turned her around, enchanted by her dainty gesture as 
she tucked her hair behind her ear. Her eyelashes fluttered over 
bright blue eyes as she glanced up at him, then away. 
“I missed you,” he said. “I searched and searched, but 
couldn’t find you.” Each word brought him closer to her lips, 
which she opened as though to deny what he told her. He didn’t 
give her a chance, instead kissing away her protests. 
He had dreamed of her last night—dark erotic dreams in 
which they had traveled the road of passion time and time again. 
She had been hot and willing, and he had felt complete for the 
first time in a very long while. Now, as she returned his kiss, 
opening her mouth to his questing tongue, that feeling of 
completeness stole over him again. The warmth of her hands 
as she cupped his face erased all doubts as to the rightness of 
her belonging with him. If only he could convince her of that 
so she wouldn’t keep running away. If only... 
He flinched as she unwittingly brushed against the burns 

on his neck. She immediately stilled, tilting her head back to 
break the kiss. 
“You’re hurt.” Her tender words tore at his heart. How 
long had it been since anyone had cared? 
“It’s nothing serious. Just some cinder burns. We had a 
fire in the north field, and it took everyone to put it out. I’ll 
have to wait until morning to assess the damage. It’s too dark 
to tell how many acres burned.” He started to release her, but 
then caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. “If I leave you to 
bathe away the stench of smoke, will you promise to be here 
when I finish?” 
Her blue eyes glittered mischievously, and he traced the 
upward slant of her lips as she smiled. He didn’t want to let 
her out of his sight. He loved the silky feel of her skin and the 
warmth of her body, and yet he knew she would probably not 
consent to take a bath with him so he wouldn’t have to stop 
touching her. 
“I promise I’ll be here.” 
“And do you mean here in this room, or here on the island 
somewhere, or perhaps just here in the state of South Carolina?” 
He realized that her escapes had been made because of his 
amorous advances. Though he couldn’t seem to help himself 
where she was concerned, he knew he would have to proceed 
slowly. 
“I’ll stay in this room. I swear.” He watched her glance 
nervously around his bedroom. Wanting to make her feel 
comfortable but not wanting her far from his sight, he refused 
to consider putting her in the library. Instead, he pulled her 
towards the fireplace chair, releasing her hand only after she 
had settled herself on the soft cushions. 
He moved towards the bathing room that he had just 
installed upon his return to Indigo Bay. He left the door open a 
little as he stripped off his soiled breeches. He spoke, wanting 
to hear the sound of her voice to reassure himself she had, 
indeed, stayed. 
“I lay awake last night rehearsing what I would say to you 
when I saw you again. Shouting at you in anger wasn’t what 
I’d planned. I apologize. Will you tell me where you went?” 

Mica closed her eyes as his voice caressed her with its 
deep Southern drawl. The rest of her senses alerted her to the 
sound of his pants being removed and the splash of water. Her 
own skin tingled as she pictured him lowering his muscular 
body into the water, his hands slowly soaping a washrag, then 
rubbing it over every inch of himself to... 
“Michaela Marie?” His voice became urgent, and she 
realized he thought she had broken her promise. 
“Yes, I’m still here.” Her voice squeaked, and she cleared 
it as she fought to suppress her wayward thoughts. 
“Well?” More water splashed, and Mica squeezed her legs 
together against the achiness building deep inside her. Dear 
God, why hadn’t she suggested she wait in the library? 
She tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke. “I spent 
the day trying to find out about you, if you must know the 
truth. There is no record of Indigo Bay, except for one reference 
back in the 1800’s.” She raised her voice to be heard over the 
splashing. “Most records were destroyed during the Civil War.” 
“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned a civil war. 
Exactly what do you mean?” Logan’s voice came out of the 
bathroom muffled, and Mica clutched the arms of the chair as 
she envisioned him rubbing himself dry with a fluffy towel. 
“You know, the War Between the States.” Many 
Southerners still refused to use the term Civil War. 
“What?” Logan stuck his head through the doorway, gifting 
Mica with a glimpse of bronze torso, lightly sprinkled with 
dark hair, contrasting sharply with the white of a towel slung 
around his neck. She swallowed. Every muscle in her coiled 
tighter than a spring. Every nerve ending sang along her skin 
from the explosive current in the air. 
When she didn’t say anything, he disappeared around the 
door again. 
“Leave it to a woman to get war and politics confused,” he 
said with a chuckle. “The war of 1812, to which you must be 
referring, was between the United States and Britain. Although 
it was before my time, my father fought, using Indigo Bay as a 
refuge for American privateers.” He came into the room 
buttoning a shirt over clean brown trousers, but this time Mica 

didn’t notice his devastating appearance. What he’d just said 
didn’t make sense. 
She didn’t have time to sort it out before he said, “Of course, 
with President Fillmore in office now, we don’t have to worry 
about any more fights with the British. He’s made it clear he 
won’t tolerate—” 
“What did you say?” Mica tore her gaze to his. “President 
who?” 
He gave her a quizzical look. “Even if you can’t vote, 
you’ve surely listened to dinner discussions and know Millard 
Fillmore has been our President since Taylor died in July.” 
He bent to kiss her lips, unaware of the shock his words 
had caused. “Stay right here. I’m going to get a tray from Mattie, 
and we can eat up here tonight. Tomorrow will be soon enough 
to see the rest of the manor.” 
Mica didn’t even realize he had left. Very slowly, as though 
she had never seen it before, her gaze shifted around the room, 
pausing here and there to study the furnishings. Her heart beat 
painfully against her ribs, and yet it beat so loudly she could 
hear its slow thump, thump inside her head. Other impressions 
bombarded her—oil lamps, mint condition 1840 law books, 
and Logan’s clothes, which, now that she thought about it, had 
never seemed quite in fashion. 
She forced herself to relax the stranglehold she had on the 
chair and rise, moving to the doorway. Though the light was 
dim, she could detect the pattern of the wallpaper. She searched 
in vain along the entire length of the wall—from doorway to 
corner—and could not find a single light switch or wall socket. 
Her hands shook as she brought them to her mouth to stifle 
the scream bubbling up inside. No way could this be happening. 
Either this was some great practical joke, or she had slipped 
over the brink of sanity and entered a dream world of her own 
design. Either way, Mica wanted no part of it—Logan or no 
Logan. She might have dreamed him up, but she could not 
imagine how the rest of this came about. 
Tears blurred her vision as she raced from the room and 
descended the stairs. She had to get out of here—back to her 
safe life and her nice, responsible job. She reached for the 

doorknob, shaking so hard she had to clasp it with both hands. 
“Michaela Marie? Where...oh no, not again!” 
She heard Logan’s shout and the crash of dishes and jerked 
harder on the door, intent on getting back to Sea Crest before 
he could stop her. 
She bolted through the door only to realize it led outside. 
In her panic she had taken the wrong turn. A wide verandah 
stepped down to a circular drive before a lush lawn took over 
the rest of her view. Where was she? How had she gotten away 
from Sea Crest? 
Before she could find any answers, she heard footsteps 
behind her. Instinctively, she raced down the steps and turned 
to her right. At the first opening in shrubbery, she turned again. 
The small amount of light from the moon showed her the way 
across more lawn. 
Her ears roared as she raced through the night. She gasped 
for breath but refused to slow down even though her heart 
pounded and her side ached. Did she hear waves crashing in 
front of her, or was it only her frantic heartbeat? If she got to 
the beach, she would be able to orient herself and locate Sea 
Crest. 
She didn’t stop until she felt the water lap at her ankles. 
She held her side against the pain as she turned towards land to 
locate Sea Crest’s lights. 
She screamed when Logan grabbed her arm and spun her 
around. She pounded on his chest with her fists. “Go away— 
leave me alone! I don’t know who put you up to this, but it was 
a cruel joke!” Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t 
care. She had trusted him, kissed him, and look what it had 
gotten her. 
“Michaela! What’s wrong with you? Why do you keep 
running away from me?” 
She could see the confusion sketched in his scowling 
features, feel his concern when his whiskey-colored gaze met 
hers. His voice bordered on panic. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted 
to hurt her, but he had still been party to the joke. 
“You blew it, Logan!” She shouted her outrage at his 
betrayal. “I may have let you sucker me into a few kisses, but 

you went too far tonight.” At his look of further confusion, she 
continued to yell. “George Bush is President, and there is no 
way your dad could have fought in a war that took place over 
a...” 
His look of astonishment made her stop. She gazed beyond 
him to the sandy stretch of beach. There were no clusters of 
bright-colored beach umbrellas stuck in the sand, ready to be 
rented the following morning. For as far as she could see, there 
was not one piece of litter scattered anywhere on the pristine 
sand. 
She turned tear-filled eyes back to Logan, who had 
remained at her side even as she ranted and pounded on him 
with her fists. His eyes were full of sympathy, as though he 
understood her loss, even if he didn’t realize what caused it. 
“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Where am I?” 
With hands once again gentle, Logan turned her away from 
the ocean. He wrapped one strong arm around her, pulling her 
back against his chest. He fanned the other one out in front of 
them to encompass the entire island. 
“Look before you. All that you see is Indigo Bay—my 
plantation—my island. It has been worked by my father, and 
his father before him.” With a work-callused hand, he brushed 
her hair back from her face. She blinked several times before 
her eyes cleared enough to see what Logan saw. 
She gasped. There were no lights up and down the length 
of shoreline, no privacy fences stretching to the edge of the 
sand to ensure each owner’s territorial rights. Only the soft 
glow from several illuminated windows in one enormous house 
broke the darkness. She listened intently. Where was the traffic 
noise, so constant even from across the bay? Where was the 
odd odor so often prevalent because of the clogged bay and 
stagnant waters? 
She shivered, and Logan’s arms came around her to ward 
off the chill. But he couldn’t remove the deep-down cold that 
had nothing to do with the breeze blowing into shore. This 
time, she didn’t fight his hold, because he seemed the only 
solid thing in a world suddenly gone topsy-turvy. 
She tipped her head back until it rested on his shoulder. 

She recalled other things that hadn’t made sense from the 
beginning—things her mind had blanked out because of her 
fascination with Logan. Antiques that looked new. Mint 
condition law books that were, in fact, new. A house that had 
no air-conditioning and no electricity. And most important of 
all, a man who had the manners and gallantry of a gentleman 
from the antebellum South. 
How could this have happened to her? She turned her head 
to rub her cheek against the soft linen of Logan’s shirt, 
convinced that if she was having some crazy dream, at least he 
had been a nice part of that craziness. 
Still, before she woke herself up, she had to ask, “Logan, 
when did Millard Fillmore become President?” His arms 
tightened around her shoulders as though he were afraid his 
answer would send her away from him again. “Please. It’s 
important.” She felt his sigh against her neck, his breath warm 
and real. 
“Zachary Taylor was elected two years ago. When he died 
this past July, Vice-president Fillmore became the new 
President.” 
“What year, Logan?” Mica tightened her grip on his arms 
to anchor herself for the rest of his response. Even so, nothing 
could prepare her for the instant vertigo she experienced, nor 
the sudden black void that opened up and swallowed her at his 
answer. 
“1850.” 

Four
Soft voices woke Mica. She felt a gentle hand brush hair 
off her forehead. The touch stirred such pleasant feelings inside 
her, she refrained from opening her eyes for fear it would stop. 
When she could delay the inevitable no longer, she opened 
her eyes and focused her gaze on Logan, his face etched with 
concern. He noticed her open eyes, but he didn’t stop the 
wonderful caresses along her forehead and down the side of 
her neck. If anything, he increased the pressure of his hand as 
it stoked the front of her shoulders and down one arm. She 
sighed in contentment and allowed her eyes to drift closed again. 
“Michaela? Don’t try to sleep again, at least not yet. The 
doctor said when you woke, we were to keep you awake for 
awhile.” As his warm breath grazed her cheek, she felt his 
hand tremble and heard the worry in his voice. 
“You were worried about me?” She shifted her gaze to his 
glittering brown eyes. She had been self-sufficient for too long. 
She had always done the worrying, and she doubted anyone 
except her mother ever worried about her. 
“Of course I am. Did you think I wouldn’t be? You fainted 
on the beach. After I brought you back to the house, I 
immediately sent for the doctor. He, by the way, wondered if I 
had fetched a mermaid from the sea.” 
His smile, tender yet teasing, caused Mica to flush with 
heat. A heat that spread like warm sunshine down her neck, 
across her breasts and belly to pool very low in her anatomy. 
To cover the blush she knew stained her cheeks, she glanced 
around the room. “This is your room.” 
He shrugged his shoulders. “It was the first bed I came 
to.” His smile grew wider. “I’ve wanted you in my bed from 

the first, though I would have preferred it under different 
circumstances.” 
His head lowered towards her, and though Mica realized 
he meant to kiss her, she felt no panic. She knew he was a 
gentleman—a gentleman from 1850! That thought came 
crashing in on her, squeezing her chest and creating a pain at 
the base of her skull. 
“Ahem. Here is the tea you requested.” A woman’s voice 
from the doorway interrupted her panicked thoughts, but 
increased Mica’s headache. Logan placed another pillow behind 
her, then took the tea tray from a petite gray-haired woman 
with a cheery smile. 
“Thank you, Mattie. Oh, Michaela Marie, this is Matilda 
Brown, my housekeeper, but we call her Mattie. I feel I should 
introduce you—since you’re not her cousin.” A tease had 
entered his voice, but Mica felt only a cold, black helplessness 
swirl around her. 
“I know that.” 
He frowned at her tone, and Mica regretted her surly answer. 
The blackness closed in on her, and Mica welcomed it to avoid 
making up lies. Or worse yet, trying to make Logan understand 
the truth. Just when the blackness would have swallowed her 
completely, Logan’s soft voice beckoned her back. 
“Michaela Marie, don’t run away from me again. Nothing 
can be so bad that you must hide away.” 
“You don’t know any such thing.” She refused to leave the 
soothing blackness behind her closed eyes, but she couldn’t 
deny him some kind of an answer. 
“You are right. I don’t.” He chuckled, but his next words 
were quite serious. “I will not ask you for answers, Michaela. 
I can only hope that, in time, you’ll become comfortable enough 
to share yourself with me without my asking.” 
“Time?” Mica’s eyes popped open. Her gaze flickered to 
the lamp on the bedside table that cast wavering shadows 
against the pale walls. “What time is it?” She tried to rise from 
the bed, but Logan pushed her back down. 
“It is still the middle of the night, and you are not going 
anywhere.” At her look of panic, he softened his tone. “If I 

have to stay here all night, you’ll lie there and rest.” 
“But you don’t understand. I can’t stay,” she whimpered. 
She had no idea what would happen if she remained on his 
side of Sea Crest. Would the key work the next time she tried 
to return home? 
Logan studied her for a long moment, and Mica felt 
uncomfortable beneath his stare. At last he let out a sigh as he 
took one of her hands between his two warm ones. 
He spoke softly, his voice comforting even as he said, “I 
said I wouldn’t question you, but I fear I must ask one after 
all.” 
Mica held her breath. She knew she couldn’t lie, and the 
chances of again evading the truth were slim. 
“Do you trust me?” 
“What?” she asked, blinking in surprise. 
“Do you trust me?” 
She lifted her gaze to his. His dark brown eyes drew her. 
In their depths she saw warmth and caring. She didn’t know 
enough about this man to fill a thimble, but her heart gave her 
the answer to his question. 
“Yes, I believe I do.” 
His audible sigh made her realize he hadn’t been as sure of 
himself as she had thought, and that endeared him to her all the 
more. 
“Then trust me to know what’s good for you, and that 
includes staying here with me.” At her immediate sound of 
protest, he gently put a finger to her lips. “Wait. I will make no 
demands on you. Let me show you my island. Let me share its 
beauty and its secrets with you. Learn who I am. I promise 
you’ll not regret it.” 
Mica could never recall an offer quite like his. She gazed 
at him. He wore an earnest, little-boy expression, and she felt 
honored that her answer could mean so much to anyone. 
She briefly thought of her parents and the argument they 
had before she left—the control they wished to exert over her 
life. Her mother had also mentioned Richard would be paying 
her a visit and she really didn’t want to see him. 
Then Professor Bigley’s words echoed in her mind, asking 

if she feared a little adventure. She allowed herself a smile at 
that, for she doubted the Professor quite had this in mind. Logan 
returned her smile, and she thought, Why not? 
If she were very careful, he would never know where she 
came from, and when the time came, she could leave and have 
no regrets. She fumbled along the side of her skirt until she felt 
the hard metal key in her pocket. The solid weight of it gave 
her the confidence to stay, because she knew she could not 
deny him, or herself, the chance he offered. 
“I have no clothes.” Her protest lacked conviction. 
“I’ll send someone over to Sea Crest to fetch what you 
need.” 
“No!” She realized her error when surprise etched his 
features, then a brow arched in question. She faltered as she 
tried to think of a plausible excuse. 
“It wouldn’t be...my staying here wouldn’t be proper, would 
it?” She could only hope he accepted that. 
“Ah, you’re right about that. Hmm...” 
“I’ll write a note, asking for some things to be delivered 
to…” she paused, not knowing if the same towns existed in 
this time as in her own. 
“Cameron. To the Belleview Hotel,” Logan said, 
completing her sentence. 
Oh gracious! Aunt Theo’s hospital used to be that hotel. 
Well, at least the town existed, which would make it less likely 
she would make grievous mistakes in geography. 
Of course, her note could never be sent, so she’d have to 
come up with some other way to obtain clothes. She sank back 
on the pillow, the headache she had tried to ignore blocking 
her ability to think anymore. 
Logan lightly touched her forehead with warm fingers, 
brushing the hair from her eyes as he graced her with a smile. 
“Rest now, and we’ll talk more later.” 
He rose from the edge of the bed, and panic assailed Mica. 
“Don’t leave me!” 
No matter what her decision to stay in this unknown world, 
she felt safe only because of Logan’s real and solid presence. 
He was a force she hadn’t reckoned with, but now depended 

on. 
He bent close to place a light kiss on her brow. “I won’t 
leave you, Michaela Marie, but you have to rest.” At the look 
of panic she knew remained in place, he sighed and resumed 
his seat on the side of the bed. “All right, I’ll stay until you 
sleep.” 
She reached out and linked her fingers with his. As she 
drifted off to sleep, wrapped in a feeling of security and warmth, 
she had the impression her very own guardian angel kept watch 
over her. 
*** 
Logan had never felt this way before. As he sat beside her, 
their fingers entwined, all his gentlemanly instincts rushed 
forward and squeezed around his heart. He wanted to protect 
her from whatever fears she had and solve all her problems. 
He longed to be her escort around town and show her off, and 
yet a selfish inner voice told him to keep her entirely to himself. 
She had the look of a sophisticate, and he calculated she 
had to be past the age of twenty to have inherited her aunt’s 
estate. Besides, most young women weren’t allowed to travel 
unattended. Even so, she appeared very young and vulnerable 
lying there in his large bed. 
He pondered the mystery surrounding her sudden 
appearance. Even if he overlooked that, it fell beyond his realm 
of experience to understand why a look from her could cause 
his heart to pound and his blood to rush. And her kisses— 
never had such quicksilver heat consumed him. 
He glanced out into the dark night, but within seconds his 
gaze again rested on the sleeping beauty. She had been 
frightened that he would leave her and confused about her 
surroundings. Those feelings made him want to keep her safe 
and protected. Every man wanted to feel like a knight in shining 
armor, he thought, grinning to himself. 
He gently brushed a thumb across her lips, parted slightly 
in sleep, and felt her warm breath against his skin. Heat coiled 
deep inside, and his hand trembled as he stroked her smooth 
cheek. 
He thanked the good Lord who saw fit to send him his 

own damsel in distress. He only hoped he had the patience not 
to push her too fast, for he didn’t want her to run away again. 
He thought to move her to a separate room, for his physical 
arousal created an ache he knew could be appeased if he crawled 
into bed with her. Damn, it would be hard not to seduce this 
luscious, dark-haired beauty who had trusted him enough to 
fall peacefully asleep in his bed. 
Trust. Because of that honorable word, Logan spent a 
restless night in the chair beside Michaela. 
He jerked awkwardly when Simon shook his shoulder early 
the next morning. Stretching the kinks from his lower back, he 
only half listened as the butler informed him Neil waited in the 
downstairs study. While he cursed the untimely interruption, 
the situation between him and his wayward stepbrother needed 
to be settled. Logan did not want to it put off. 
He gently tucked the covers over Michaela Marie, 
chuckling to himself, for he could not remember a time where 
he had offered a woman his bed without him being in it. He 
would ask Mattie to ready another room for Michaela to use 
during her visit. If the time became right to make love to her, 
the distance between bedroom doors would be of little 
consequence. 
Having cheered himself with those thoughts and a splash 
of cold water to his face, he walked out the door to take care of 
the business at hand. 
“Have Lana bring some coffee as soon as possible,” he 
instructed Simon as the butler opened the door of the study for 
him. The click of the closing door resounded in the silence as 
Logan faced Neil. 
“Good morning.” His brother did not acknowledge the 
greeting, but kept his head bent over some papers on Logan’s 
desk. Logan shook his head in despair. Neil just would not let 
go and kept trying to find some piece— 
“I didn’t burn your goddamned field, Logan, yet you’ve 
already spread the vicious rumor all over the island.” He 
stormed around the desk to stand toe-to-toe with Logan. “If I 
wanted to take over, I’d just kill you and be done with it!” He 
swung away from Logan and moved to the liquor cabinet, 

pouring himself a rather large glass of whiskey for so early in 
the morning. 
“I’d go easy on that if I were you.” Though they were close 
to the same age, Logan always felt himself older and in charge 
of a temperamental younger brother. 
“Don’t tell me what to do! You’re always trying to tell me 
what to do. Remember, I lived here with Father, working from 
sunup to sundown, making this damnable island produce 
indigo—the prize of the South,” he added with sarcasm. “You 
were off with your studies, taking all that your dear mother 
would send you, when it should have been mine.” 
Logan studied his stepbrother as he guzzled the whiskey 
and poured more. They had the same build and were within 
months of being the same age, but there the similarities ended. 
Neil was as fair and blonde as Logan was dark. While Logan 
supposed Neil could be considered handsome, he had a mean 
streak that radiated around him and emanated from his cold, 
green eyes. 
There had never been any love lost between them. 
Somehow, though, Logan always felt he should try to make 
Neil his brother, if not in blood, then at least in word and deed. 
Unfortunately, Neil would have none of it. 
Logan knew Neil had always been jealous of his 
relationship with his mother, who had married Neil’s father. 
While Neil’s father had been consumed with making money 
and seeing the island produce more and more, Elizabeth 
Rutledge Seaton had bestowed her time, energy and love on 
Logan. Though she had tried to share that love with Neil, the 
boy would have none of it and had been moody from the day 
their parents had married. 
“This land should have been mine! I worked it with my 
own two hands—these hands.” He thrust his arms straight at 
Logan, the whiskey in his glass sloshing over the side onto the 
carpet. 
Though Logan knew it would be useless, he tried to reason 
with him. “Neil, I’ve told you before, the Will—” 
“Goddamn you! You could have forged the Will. You’re 
the goddamn lawyer. You could have written anything you 

wanted.” He guzzled the rest of his drink then slammed the 
glass down on the desk. He turned towards Logan, his eyes 
glazed with drink, and his step faltering as he rushed him, arms 
upraised as though he would strangle him. 
Logan neatly sidestepped his brother, grabbing an arm and 
twisting it behind his back, locking his own arm around Neil’s 
neck. He exerted pressure until Neil quit struggling, but he 
held on until he felt the tension leave Neil’s body. Even drunk, 
Neil could be a formidable opponent. Logan just wished he 
would use all that energy in helping at Indigo Bay, instead of 
wasting it on hate. 
Neil hung his head in defeat, his voice a whisper in the 
silence. “Jacobs told me you thought I started the fire.” 
Logan let Neil go, stepped back, and said softly, “Jacobs 
doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. I’ll have to speak 
to him about that.” 
One look at Neil’s slumped shoulders and haggard face, 
and Logan said without thinking, “Neil, stay here at Indigo 
Bay. Together we can make it great again—the way it was.” 
The instant the words were out, Logan realized his mistake. 
Neil’s shoulders squared, and his head snapped up, eyes again 
glittering with hatred. Although Indigo Bay had always 
belonged to Logan’s family, Neil felt when his father married 
Logan’s mother, the plantation should have been his. 
“I don’t need your pity, Brother.” He sneered the word. 
“But I give you fair warning. Indigo Bay should have become 
mine, and I won’t rest until I have set the record straight.” 
Without a word of farewell, he turned and jerked open the door, 
storming out of sight before Logan could stop him. 
“Get the hell out of my way!” A crash of dishes in the 
hallway followed Neil’s rude command. A muffled shriek 
accompanied by a thud brought Logan to the doorway to assess 
the damage. 
“Good God in Heaven, what—” 
“It weren’t my fault, Mister Logan, sir.” Lana, one of the 
maids, crawled on her hands and knees, scooping dishes and 
silver back onto the tray. “Why, he just came out of there like 
all the demons of hell was right on his heels, that’s a fact.” 

Nodding her head vigorously, Lana dropped the last of the 
morning cakes back onto a plate and then plopped right down 
in the middle of the hallway as though cleaning up the mess 
had tuckered her out for the day. 
Logan laughed outright at her antics and received a toothy 
grin in return. A groan swung both their attentions to where 
Mica sat propped against the wall. 
“Oh, mercy heavens,” Lana exclaimed, scrambling across 
the hall on hands and knees. 
“Christ!” Two strides brought Logan to her side, squatting 
down so his eyes were level with her own. 
Mica’s heart beat in funny little thumps as Logan’s wide 
eyes searched her face, and concern etched his brow. She 
managed a weak smile as she glanced between Logan and the 
maid, the last few minutes a blur of frenzied movement. When 
she awoke alone in Logan’s huge bed, voices raised in argument 
had led her downstairs. 
“You weren’t there, when I woke up.” She thought how 
handsome he looked, even with stubble on his chin and rather 
wrinkled clothes. Had he stayed by her side all night and never 
gone to bed? 
“I know. I had to speak with Neil.” His voice remained 
soft, but Mica could see a visible change in his features as he 
took in her bare legs sticking out from the short hem of one of 
his shirts. She had changed when she got up because her own 
clothes had been wrinkled and spotted with soot. 
Her skin grew warm beneath his perusal. Her heart pounded 
faster as his voice lowered to a deep, seductive whisper. “Had 
I known an angel slept in my bed, you can rest assured I would 
never have left her side.” 
As always, his glittering gaze and powerful presence 
reduced her to fidgeting. She nervously tucked her hair behind 
her ear. “Angels always have blonde hair.” 
“Not mine.” He tucked her hair behind her other ear, placed 
his hand on the wall beside her head, and leaned forward. Mica 
closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss. 
“Ahhhhh.” The heartfelt sigh jerked them both upright. 
They had forgotten the maid sprawled at Mica’s feet, a 

moonstruck expression on her young face. 
Mica’s face flamed hot with embarrassment. Logan just 
laughed as he stood, then gracefully lifted the maid to her feet. 
Before she could utter a word, he scooped the tray from the 
floor, placed it in her hands, and turned her toward the kitchen. 
“Off you go, Lana.” 
“Oh, but sir, the lady. Perhaps I should—” 
“I will see to the lady. You just see to not spreading any 
gossip, do you hear?” While his voice remained gentle, Mica 
could hear the underlying thread of steel. From the expression 
on Lana’s face, she knew the girl would obey the master of the 
house. 
Mica struggled to get to her feet and at the same time not 
reveal more leg than she already had. When she saw Logan 
staring, she had the distinct impression she shouldn’t have come 
downstairs without her own clothes on. With sudden clarity, 
she recalled the difference in centuries and could have kicked 
herself for not realizing it before. Propriety would be her 
downfall, she feared, for her more liberated self might not allow 
her to bow to nineteenth century conventions. 
She had barely regained her balance when Logan swept 
her off her feet and into his arms, striding towards the stairs. 
“Put me down. I can walk.” Even as she protested, she 
curled her arms around his neck. 
“Uh-huh. That’s why I found you sprawled all over my 
hallway carpet just moments ago?” He chuckled as she hid her 
face against his shoulder in embarrassment. 
“I heard voices—angry voices like the other night—and I 
came in search of you. I didn’t intend to arrive at the door just 
in time to get hit by a human tornado.” 
Logan sighed as he stood her on her feet, this time in a 
different room from where she had slept. She glanced around 
at the feminine furnishings before allowing her gaze to question 
him. 
“This was my mother’s room. I thought you might be more 
comfortable here.” His gaze slid down to her bare legs, and 
Mica had the delicious feeling that she made him 
uncomfortable. 

A devilish desire to tease him came over her. She stood on 
one foot, sliding the other slowly up her bare leg, reaching 
down as though to scratch her instep. All the while, she watched 
Logan, who swallowed convulsively as his gaze followed her 
movements. 
Lowering her foot to the ground, she widened her stance a 
little and slowly stretched. Her hands reached for the sky, which 
in turn hiked his shirt up to mid-thigh. 
The groan could have come from Logan or her, she really 
didn’t know. Instantly, he crushed her against him, his lips 
covering hers and his tongue begging entrance. 
Between hot, moist kisses, she felt rather than heard him 
grumble, “You don’t play fair, lady.” 
“I couldn’t come downstairs in my wrinkled clothes, could 
I?” She rubbed against his chest with her own, the whisper of 
cloth mingling with the sharp intake of his breath. 
Mica would in no way consider herself naive, but the instant 
rush of passion she experienced in Logan’s kiss unnerved her. 
Her entire body tingled as though struck by lightning, and she 
felt the distinct, heavy achiness between her legs that, before 
Logan, had always come much later in foreplay. 
Logan continued to kiss her, his lips finding the incredibly 
sensitive places behind her ears, the hollow of her neck, even 
her eyelids. She gave her body over to the sensuous pleasure of 
his attention. His tongue teased at the corners of her mouth, 
and she opened for him. 
She had always thought this type of kissing vastly overrated, 
but Logan surprised her again. As his tongue swept the edge of 
her teeth and teased her own tongue to respond, her knees 
buckled. 
“Oh, dear God.” She grabbed his shoulders and tipped her 
head back, unable to draw a decent breath. “Oh, wow.” She 
dropped her head to his chest, sucking in air like a drowning 
person. 
Still he held her in his seductive grasp. His hands massaged 
her back, rubbing up and down her spine, then he cupped her 
fanny and pulled her harder against him. No amount of clothes 
could have kept her from feeling his arousal, which in turn 

heightened her own inflamed state. It took every bit of 
willpower she could muster not to curl her legs around his 
waist and allow him to make love to her as they stood. At that 
insane moment, she wanted him that badly. 
She tried to slow her breathing and get herself under control. 
She could feel the rapid beat of Logan’s heart—could almost 
hear it thunder in the room’s silence. Well, at least the attraction 
couldn’t be termed one-sided. 
Though she ached to continue, she felt sure women of his 
century didn’t seduce the men. The last thing she wanted was 
for him to think her a strumpet. She pushed against his shoulders 
to gain some distance. While at first reluctant, Logan did 
relinquish his embrace, but kept his hands on her hips as she 
tried to step away from him. 
“If you’re going to tease me, you must be willing to accept 
the consequences.” The rebuke, though voiced gently, brought 
her head up. She scanned his face and realized he suffered as 
much discomfort as she did. 
“I’m sorry...I had no intention...I...” Geez, would he always 
reduce her to incoherent thoughts? Before she could formulate 
a better answer, he released her with a sigh and walked to a 
large cabinet set against one wall. 
“Do you know, when you get excited you speak in 
monosyllables?” The teasing quality had returned to his voice, 
and Mica was glad. The sexual tension had been thick, and she 
knew if he had kissed her again, she would not have let him 
go. At the same moment, the thought crossed her mind that she 
wanted more than sex from this man. 
His comment helped take her mind off his magnificent 
body, at least for the moment. “It’s entirely your fault if I can’t 
speak. I don’t know why, but somehow you reduce me to a 
blundering idiot. I’m usually quite capable of holding my own 
in any conversation. What’s that?” 
She had come to stand beside him and peered into what 
appeared to be a very large closet. Clothes hung in a neat row 
across it, and several pairs of shoes and boots were lined up 
along the bottom. 
“My mother’s wardrobe. I think it would be best if you 

found something to wear until we can retrieve your clothes.” 
He turned his sexy grin on her again. “If you stay in my shirt 
much longer, I’m dreadfully afraid you won’t be in anything at 
all.” 
“These are your mother’s clothes? Won’t she mind?” 
“Mother died...some time ago.” 
Mica’s heart went out to him. Seeing the sadness in his 
expression, she guiltily thought she should be nicer to her own 
mother the next time she saw her. 
“I fear you are somewhat taller than she, but perhaps 
something will suffice for the time being.” He turned and 
walked away from her before she could say thank you. 
At the door to the bedroom, he paused. “I’m sorry Neil ran 
you down. It was extremely rude of him. Hopefully, you will 
have the opportunity to meet him in a better light in the future.” 
“It’s not your fault your brother acts like a jackass.” She 
gritted her teeth and grimaced at her slip. She had no right 
calling anyone names, much less someone she didn’t know. 
However, from what she could gather, this stepbrother of 
Logan’s couldn’t be counted on to act in a very civilized manner. 
Logan chuckled, turning part way around to glance in her 
direction. “You really are quite unconventional, aren’t you?” 
At her indifferent shrug of a shoulder, he added, “You’re really 
quite adorable, too.” 
She could only stand with mouth agape as he closed the 
door behind him. Adorable? No one had called her that since 
she was five years old. Even then, it had only been her Uncle 
Gene, who was family, so that really didn’t count. 
She donned a simple skirt and blouse, along with some 
strange underwear cut much like a split skirt slip. The shoes in 
the closet were much smaller than the size nine she wore. 
Realizing her shoes were probably still in Logan’s room, she 
decided she’d just have to go barefoot. 
She glanced around the room but couldn’t locate her clothes 
either. Rocking back on her heels, she gasped. If her clothes 
and shoes were nowhere in sight, then she no longer possessed 
the key! 
She stumbled on the long skirt as she scrambled out the 

door and down the stairs, calling for Logan. In her fear over 
the disposal of her clothes, along with the key, she tripped over 
the last step and would have fallen if not for a pair of strong 
arms catching her awkward descent. 
“What on earth? If the servants had not already been up, 
you surely would have awakened them.” Logan held on until 
she could get her feet beneath her. His gaze searched her face. 
Though Mica felt rather foolish for her behavior, dread 
still caught in her throat at the thought of not being able to 
return to her own time. “My clothes? What did you do with my 
clothes?” 
“Clothes? For pity’s sake, is that what this is about? Leave 
it to a woman to screech about a simple skirt and shirtwaist.” 
“Don’t go chauvinistic on me, mister, just tell me what 
you did with my things.” Compelled to locate her key, Mica 
forgot to whom she spoke, or the simple fact that he couldn’t 
possibly understand her words. 
“Chauvinistic? I’m not familiar with that term. Does it have 
anything to do with the way you kissed me earlier?” He slid 
his arms around her waist and pulled her close. 
His fresh male scent tickled Mica’s nostrils, and she forgot 
what she wanted. His eyes mesmerized her, his breath caressed 
her, and his lips teased her senses. He kissed her, right there at 
the bottom of the stairs where anyone could walk in and see 
them. She didn’t care, and apparently neither did Logan. He 
increased the pressure until she yielded her mouth, her tongue 
dueling with his. 
“You’ve got to stop doing that,” she gasped, searching her 
brain for a logical thought when he finally let her come up for 
air. 
“Why?” 
It wasn’t the question he asked, but rather the heat of his 
hands and the passion in his eyes that backed Mica up a step. 
Why, indeed, she thought, taking in his dark, bedroom eyes, 
jet-black hair, and wicked smile. At that moment, she couldn’t 
for the life of her come up with a reason to stop kissing him. 
She hadn’t been this confused over a male since eighth grade. 
The fact of the matter was, he scared her. Or rather, her reaction 

to him scared her. 
Think, she scolded herself. Find some neutral ground. As 
she stared at him, she realized nothing could be considered 
neutral about this man. He exuded sensuality, and she doubted 
he even realized it. 
“My key.” Finally, she remembered what had thrown her 
into a panic in the first place. She raised her brows in question. 
Logan took her hand and led her along the hall to a set of 
double doors, which were opened instantly by the butler. Mica 
flushed, not recalling if the man had been standing there when 
she kissed Logan. The austere look on his face gave nothing 
away. 
“We’ll eat now, Simon.” The butler nodded and disappeared 
through another door Mica assumed led to the kitchen. Logan 
seated her in a high-backed chair, then moved to the sideboard 
to dish up their breakfast. Thinking how pleasant it was to 
have someone wait on her, Mica felt she could get used to this. 
Then again, she didn’t believe in fairy tales or knights in 
shining armor. This could only be a brief mystical interlude in 
her sane, orderly life. That brought to mind her missing key. 
“Logan, I really need my things.” Mica knew she would 
never relax until she held the key in her hand again. No matter 
what she felt for the handsome man leaning over her with a 
plate full of hot, savory food, she could never stay in his world. 
She wanted the security of knowing she had an escape route. 
Logan dug in his pocket and extracted a length of black 
velvet cord, which he hung around her neck. When Mica 
glanced down, she saw that her key dangled from the end of 
the thin ribbon. He answered her unasked question as he filled 
his own plate with food. “You did not have a reticule with you, 
nor any type of bag. When Mattie collected your clothes to 
have them laundered, your key fell out of a pocket. I assume it 
is the key to Sea Crest?” He came to sit beside her at the large 
table. 
“Yes. I’m sorry I panicked, but it’s the only key I have.” 
“It’s just a simple key and could probably be replaced in 
town if need be. Regardless of what builders state about 
security, I doubt there are that many different combinations of 

keys around, and one may suit as well as another.” He shrugged 
off the matter, delving into his breakfast. 
Mica had the feeling she couldn’t replace this particular 
key. 
As they ate breakfast, she studied the large dining room, 
searching for something familiar now that she knew the 
connection with Sea Crest. Nothing appeared the same—not 
the paintings on the wall or the table at which they sat. While 
it could easily seat fifty people, Mica was glad Logan had 
chosen to sit next to her. 
When Simon asked if she wished more coffee, she nodded 
then sat back, replete. Breakfast had always been her favorite 
meal. The fresh eggs, sausage and potatoes had filled her 
completely, though she didn’t even want to think of the 
cholesterol level of the food she’d consumed. Instead, she took 
the time to study the man eating with gusto beside her. 
Even in repose at the table, he held himself with an air of 
confidence Mica didn’t see in many men. Perhaps the weight 
of responsibility had matured him, or perhaps it was just the 
way people grew up in this era. Along with his self-assuredness, 
Logan was a handsome man. 
Where handsome men of the twenty-first century played 
on their looks and almost flaunted their bodies, Logan didn’t 
appear to be aware of his effect on the opposite sex, specifically 
her. He was just Logan—a good-looking, well-muscled 
gentleman who could kiss as though he had taken lessons from 
the devil himself. 
“Have you had your fill?” He had caught her staring, and 
she wondered if he realized the innuendo of his words. 
She couldn’t resist teasing him. As he rose from his chair, 
she allowed her gaze to slide up and down his frame before 
saying, “For now.” Her smile brought an answering grin to his 
face. 
“Let me know when you’re hungry again. As a gentleman, 
I consider it my sincere obligation to appease any appetites 
you may develop.” He executed a graceful bow before he moved 
to slide her chair out from the table. 
“You’re good, I’ll grant you that,” she taunted as she moved 

out of his reach.
“Just how good, my lovely lady, you have yet to discover.”

Five
“Come. I must see the extent of damage from last night’s 
fire.” Logan pulled Mica toward the front door as he spoke. 
The huge double doors loomed before her like the open 
jaws of some hideous monster, ready to gobble her up and spit 
her back out where she belonged. She jerked her hand from 
Logan’s, clutching the key that hung around her neck. 
“What’s wrong?” Logan turned to her, and she knew he 
couldn’t understand her hesitation. 
She stared at the doors, wishing she could see through to 
the other side. Would she stay in this time if she walked through 
a door other than the one with the key? She had no idea of the 
rules governing this unearthly game she played and would just 
as soon stay inside, where she knew for a certainty she existed. 
What if she just disappeared, or got caught somewhere 
between this century and her own? What if she could never go 
back to her own world? 
“Michaela? Oh, I see. You have no shoes on.” Logan 
unwittingly gave her the answer to her dilemma. 
“That’s right.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “I couldn’t 
possibly go outside and walk around without shoes.” 
“It didn’t appear to bother you last night when you rushed 
headlong out the doors to the beach.” Logan tilted his head to 
the side, one brow arched in question. 
It suddenly dawned on her exactly what Logan had said. If 
she had gone outside last night and remained on this side, why 
couldn’t she do so in the daytime? 
“All right, I’ll go.” Mica conceded to his wishes, placing 
one hand securely in his, the other hand clutching the key. She 
held her breath as she walked through the double doors to the 

sparkling sunshine of a summer morning. 
She didn’t disappear into a puff of smoke or get yanked 
back into the house by some invisible hand. Instead, she 
immediately fell in love. She had always been partial to her 
aunt’s island, but the modern, semi-civilized state of Sea Crest 
and its neighboring resort homes were a sad parody on its 
original unblemished state. As Mica stood on the top step of 
the mansion, inhaling the clean, salt-tinged air, she gazed around 
her in wonder. 
Lush foliage covered much of the area she could see right 
in front of the house. A wild abundance of colorful flowers 
greeted her. Unable to name the profusion of varieties, she could 
only wish this wild, natural garden had not been lost over the 
years. 
The ocean roared off to her right and the entire island 
appeared to be wide open. There were no street sounds, no 
telephone poles and wires, and no electric lights on the corners. 
She loved it! 
A circular driveway, covered with crushed shells, bent 
gracefully away from the house and disappeared beyond a grove 
of trees. Directly in front of her stood a small carriage pulled 
by two pretty bay horses that were patiently nudging the groom 
who held their lead harness. 
“We’ll take the curricle,” Logan announced, pulling her 
down the steps and then lifting her high onto the seat before 
she could formulate a thought. “Once we have you properly 
attired, we’ll ride.” As he climbed in beside her and flicked the 
reins to set the horses in motion, he turned to her and grinned. 
“There’s nothing quite like a sunrise ride along the ocean sands. 
The rising tide licks at the horses’ hocks, and the spray stings 
your cheeks.” 
Mica was so caught up in the picture he painted, lost to the 
wonder of Logan’s Indigo Bay. She felt as though a missing 
part of her had been found. 
Settling back, she was content to enjoy the island in a way 
she could never have believed possible. As she absorbed 
Logan’s words, she thought how wonderful everything he 
described sounded. His voice held such pride of ownership, 

she became curious. 
“Why have you been away? I can tell from your voice you 
love this land.” She glanced his way to find his eyes sparkling 
and the light breeze tousling his hair. “Your eyes light up, and 
you look like a little boy playing with his favorite Christmas 
toy. Why would you want to do anything else, or be anywhere 
else, besides here?” 
“Michaela Marie, I do not expect you to understand. My 
family and my responsibilities are just that—mine. As a woman, 
I wouldn’t presume to burden—” 
“Whoa, right there! Let’s get one thing straight, Logan 
Rutledge. I am not some wishy-washy miss who can’t stand 
the heat or a little hardship. I can think past what to wear or 
how many courses to have for dinner. I happen to have a fine 
head for business. In fact, I not only have a law—” 
He was laughing. She punched him in the arm, but he kept 
laughing, dropping the reins to cradle his stomach in hysterics. 
She sat dumbfounded as the carriage slowed to a stop, the horses 
bending their heads to munch grass that grew between the wheel 
ruts in the road. 
“You are priceless,” Logan gasped as he grabbed her by 
the shoulders to draw her near. So near, their lips touched. 
Instant heat engulfed Mica, and she wondered how he did 
that. She didn’t waste energy worrying about it, but instead 
enjoyed his kiss, returning his passion with her own. She slid 
her hands up his shoulders to curl her fingers in the hair that 
lay on his shirt collar. 
Hungrily, her tongue touched his, savoring the heady male 
taste of him. She strained towards him, wanting more than he 
offered, but shy about how to proceed. After all, how did one 
go about seducing a gentleman who apparently put women on 
pedestals? 
Logan was finding it extremely difficult to keep his hands 
still at Michaela’s waist. As she strained towards him, he could 
feel the soft flesh of her breasts against his chest, and he 
swallowed convulsively. 
He had no idea why she affected him the way she did. 
He’d had his share of dalliances while in school up North, but 

never once would he have considered any of them serious. Now, 
based on only a few days’ acquaintance, this woman had totally 
captivated him. He wanted to protect her, wait on her and 
shower her with gifts, revere her with all the honor and respect 
due her gender. 
At the very same time, he longed to ravish her and share 
the delights of passion with her. He sensed in her a deep 
sensuality that triggered an identical response from his own 
body. He almost feared releasing his passion, for he realized if 
she in the least returned his feelings, he would never let her go. 
While that seemed a logical objective for him to pursue, 
he had an innate sense of foreboding where she was concerned. 
Something held her apart from him, even as she eagerly 
responded to his kisses. He felt he should court her slowly and 
try to have patience, even when his body insisted otherwise. 
“I thought I told you to quit doing that,” Michaela 
whispered against his lips when he released them. The passion 
still sparkling in her sky blue eyes belied her words. 
“I don’t recall you saying that. I’m sure I would have 
remembered such devastating words.” Ignoring his body’s cries 
for satisfaction, he removed his hands from her waist and sat 
back against the curricle’s leather seat. He cleared his throat. 
“Well.” He could think of nothing to say, and he couldn’t 
gather the horses’ reins until he could move his hands from his 
thighs without them shaking like some schoolboy’s. 
“Show me your island, Logan Rutledge.” Her soft reminder 
of his promise straightened his spine and renewed his 
confidence. There would be time to continue his seduction, he 
thought, gathering the reins and clicking the horses into a trot 
once more. He would make certain there was time. 
*** 
They passed through the grove of trees that lined the 
driveway, and the island opened up to a sea of green. Mica 
began to see what made Indigo Bay Plantation so unique to the 
area. 
“Most of the island north of the house is planted in indigo,” 
Logan stated, steering the small carriage along a dirt path. “As 
you have probably noticed, I have a small household staff. 

Almost everyone employed on the island works in the field or 
processing sheds. I find I can take care of my own needs fairly 
well, but I must have people out here.” He glanced her way 
before adding, “I hope you’ll not find it too inconvenient to 
tend to your own personal needs?” 
“Don’t worry about that. I’ve been looking after myself 
for a long time now.” Mica wondered how shocked he would 
be if he realized she not only cooked and cleaned, but also 
worked and lived on her own. She knew for a certainty those 
traits were not on a nineteenth century woman’s resume—at 
least not on a “lady’s” resume. 
Logan pointed to the fields of green plants, some growing 
as tall as four feet, and all covered with small, red flowers. 
“We plant several fields of indigo. This section is separated 
from the north fields by the processing vats and dye sheds. We 
harvested the first cutting in June and have finished the 
processing. The season’s final cutting will occur in just a month, 
from the first to middle part of September.” 
Mica didn’t want to think about September when she would 
have to return to her own work. Instead, she concentrated on 
Logan’s voice, which attested to the pride he took in the land— 
his land. 
“The flowers look like little butterflies,” she said, marveling 
at the blooming plants which spread before her for acres. 
“That’s why they are poetically called ‘butterfly flowers.’” 
His soft, Southern drawl, combined with a devastating smile, 
caused a different kind of butterfly to flutter in Mica’s stomach. 
She clinched sweaty palms together in her lap to keep from 
reaching up and touching his gently curved lips. 
She glanced around, still unable to comprehend this place 
as the same one she had visited as a child. Nothing reminded 
her of the island she knew. If she intended to stay awhile, she 
wanted to learn all she could about indigo and the way of life 
that had been created here. “Where did the fire start last night?” 
Logan’s brow furrowed in consternation. “In the 
northernmost fields, which is where we’re heading. I still can’t 
understand how a fire started among green plants. Hopefully 
in the light of day, I can determine the cause.” 

“We’re going to the cliffs?” 
Logan shot her a look of disbelief. “How did you know 
cliffs edged this end of the island?” 
Mica stared ahead of them, her eyes searching wildly for a 
safe answer. Damn, she mentally cringed. How was she 
supposed get out of this one? Even if the buildings didn’t look 
familiar, the lay of the land wouldn’t have changed that much 
over a hundred years, and she searched for some way to save 
her from her faux pas. 
“Well, you can see the rise of the land up ahead.” She 
pointed vaguely off in the distance. To add credence to her 
answer, she smiled weakly at him. “Besides, don’t all islands 
have cliffs, and sandy coves, and waterfalls, and...” 
He laughed at her exaggeration, shaking his head. “It really 
is too bad they don’t teach ladies something besides watercolors 
and menu planning. If you like, I will gladly give you some 
instruction in geography.” 
Mica had to grit her teeth and clench her fists beneath the 
folds of her skirt to keep from punching Logan in the jaw. She 
had purposely led him down this path to cover her blunder, but 
she hated his macho male attitude and longed to tell him as 
much. 
However, in 1850, he was perfectly within his rights in a 
male-dominated world to express such thoughts. There would 
come a time, she thought, when he would be sorry for all the 
rude comments he had made. She would see to that. 
She changed the subject, so she wouldn’t forget what 
century she resided in and give him a lecture. “What are those?” 
She pointed to a series of large brick structures that stair-stepped 
down from each other in groups of three. 
“Fermentation vats. They are used to create the dye that 
carries our name. The process is quite lengthy. Once the plants 
are cut, they must be placed in the largest vat at the top of the 
tier and covered with water. When the indigo leaves are 
saturated, the fermentation process begins. The liquid must be 
the right taste and color before it is drawn off into the lower 
vat where the process continues.” 
“The right taste?” Mica gave him an incredulous look. 

“Isn’t dye poisonous?” 
“Not at all. It must be exactly the right sweetness. An hour 
too long of fermentation could endanger the entire yield. Once 
the process at the vats is complete, the indigo is transferred to 
the building over there.” He swung his arm to the buildings to 
the left of the road. 
“The raw indigo is heated to remove impurities, then 
strained through linen cloth and formed into cakes, all of which 
bear our island stamp.” He pointed to other buildings farther 
on. “That is the drying and storage shed, and farther along are 
the dyeing and weaving sheds. We not only grow and process 
the indigo, but we buy raw cotton thread which is dyed and 
woven into world famous Indigo Bay cloth.” 
Mica couldn’t help being impressed at the work involved 
in such a venture, even though she had never heard of Indigo 
Bay cloth before. So used to ready-to-wear clothes, convenience 
stores, and electronic mail, she had no concept of the time and 
effort it took to create a product in this era. 
“I am very impressed. You must be very proud of what 
your father and stepfather have done.” 
An instant scowl crossed Logan’s face, his dark brows 
coming together over menacing eyes. Mica leaned back, 
unaware of the blunder she had committed. 
“Charles Seaton had nothing to do with the success of 
Indigo Bay. In fact, because of his incompetent dealings, the 
island barely survived.” He snapped his mouth shut, and Mica 
realized he had said more than he intended. 
Why was it men thought they didn’t need anyone to listen 
to them, or to help out once in a while? That trait hadn’t changed 
over the years. She placed a hand on his thigh and felt the 
muscle tighten beneath her touch. 
“Logan, please. As I tried to tell you earlier, I’m quite 
capable of understanding business and economics.” She smiled 
as she thought of her own tangled affairs. “And family.” 
She studied his profile as he concentrated on keeping the 
horses on the narrow dirt path, passing the buildings without 
further comment and leading them towards the northern end of 
the island. 

“Logan?” She watched as his jaw tensed in aggravation. 
She added what she hoped was an element of trust. “You asked 
me to stay here and get to know you, to learn the legacy of 
your island. How can I do that if you won’t talk to me?” She 
could feel the tension in his leg beneath her hand and knew the 
moment he let go of his frustration. 
Logan glanced her way, and Mica could see the surprise in 
his gaze. “It’s not considered polite to talk about family 
problems with outsiders. Besides, most women don’t care about 
the land. Or economics or politics, for that matter.” Somehow, 
Mica should have expected such an answer. 
“I understand that, but as you have pointed out on more 
than one occasion, I am not your ordinary woman.” She grinned 
at him. 
He laughed in return, relieving the tension. “That is of a 
certainty, lovely lady.” He concentrated on the horses, and she 
supposed it was because the path had narrowed. Indigo plants 
high enough to block the surrounding area gave Mica a feeling 
of seclusion. 
He didn’t speak, and she began to think he wouldn’t tell 
her any more. When he did begin, his voice sounded far away, 
as though he pulled memories from the deepest part of his soul. 
“The island has always belonged to my family, for as far 
back as anyone can remember. When indigo was introduced 
back in 1740, my ancestors decided the island was ideal for 
growing the plant. Thus the name Indigo Bay. My father learned 
from his father, and I from him. 
“I never wanted anything else except to work the land, to 
be part of it. I understood at an early age that if I took care of 
the land, it, in turn, would take care of me and mine.” He sighed. 
“But Father died when I turned only thirteen, and when Mother 
married Charles Seaton, he left no place for me in the scheme 
of things.” 
Mica could hear the heartbreak in his words and ached for 
a little boy’s lost dreams. She gave his thigh a gentle squeeze. 
He chuckled, but she could hear no mirth in his voice. 
“I tried so hard to take care of the island and Mother. But 
every improvement I wanted to make—every time I suggested 

a change—Seaton would have none of it. Neither my mother 
nor I could persuade him from his course. Over the years, he 
planted more and more, refusing to rotate crops or allow the 
fields to lay fallow. If he hadn’t died when he had, he would 
surely have killed the land.” 
Mica realized how important family and this land had been 
to Logan, and she lost her heart to the boy who had been 
determined to take on a man’s responsibility. Before she could 
say anything further, he gave a shout and jerked the horses to a 
halt. Tossing her the reins, he jumped clear of the still-moving 
carriage. 
She glanced wildly around her, her hands automatically 
clutching the reins and pulling. She spied the source of Logan’s 
aggravation at the same time he pounced, hauling a large man 
off a small African American boy. 
Even as she tied the horses off and climbed down from the 
carriage, she could hear fists connecting with flesh. The boy 
appeared none the worse for wear and scooted backwards out 
of reach. 
The two men continued to roll back and forth on the ground. 
Mica twisted her hands in despair, wanting to help, but afraid 
of getting in the way. She couldn’t recall from her self-defense 
training just how to end a fight when it didn’t involve her. 
She needn’t have worried. Within minutes, Logan had the 
other man pinned to the ground. Using his weight for leverage, 
he straddled the larger man, his hands still throttling his neck. 
“Logan!” Her cry of appeal had no effect, and she rushed 
to his side to grab his arm. “Logan, stop it! You’re going to kill 
him.” 
“I should kill the son of a bitch!” Though his voice was 
choked with anger, Mica was relieved to see him release the 
pressure on the man’s neck. He rolled to the side and jumped 
gracefully to his feet all in one motion, but he never turned his 
back to the other man, who continued to lie breathless in the 
dirt. 
“Get to your feet, Jacobs, and get off my land,” Logan 
said, jerking the man up by the collar. 
Mica watched in awe, for Logan stood several inches 

shorter and much leaner than the husky man he now handled 
so roughly. Yet he had shown no fear. He had acted on impulse, 
coming to the aid of someone unable to defend himself. 
The man called Jacobs spat blood off to the side then rubbed 
the back of his hand across his mouth. “Those darkies need to 
know their place.” 
“These are people and work here because they wish it. 
They are no different than you or I.” 
Mica could see the anger build in Logan’s eyes as he spoke, 
but she couldn’t understand the reasoning behind his defense 
of the boy. After all, it was 1850, and everyone in the South 
owned slaves. 
“They’re niggers, Rutledge. Stupid nigger slaves. Mister 
Seaton kept them in their place and let me do my job overseeing 
them.” The man balled his fists, and Mica feared he would 
throw a punch. 
In the next instant, Logan drew a pistol from beneath his 
coat, leveling the barrel at the man’s heart. 
“Seaton does not own this land. I do, and I have been in 
charge for the past month. You have apparently forgotten who 
pays your wages, but that shall not be a problem any longer. 
You have one hour to be off this island. I will forward your 
pay, if I decide to pay you at all.” 
The surly man grabbed his hat from the edge of the road, 
knocking it against his leg to shake the dust. He refused to 
meet Logan’s gaze, but as he turned to leave, he grumbled, 
“You’ll be plenty sorry for this, I guarantee. You ain’t seen the 
last of me.” 
As the man disappeared around a bend in the road, Logan 
breathed an audible sigh of relief and lowered the pistol to his 
side. He glanced around. “Where’s the boy?” 
Mica stepped to his side, lifting the corner of her skirt to 
wipe away the dust and blood from his face. “He ran away as 
soon as you freed him.” Her intense relief that Logan had come 
out of the fight unhurt turned to anger at his foolishness. 
“You idiot! You could have been hurt. That man was twice 
your size. And why didn’t you just pull your pistol on him in 
the first place? Another thing, why do you even carry a pistol? 

They’re dangerous weapons.” 
He silenced her with a kiss, his lips barely touching hers. 
But the instant fire was enough to squelch any further argument 
from her. When he lifted his head, she bit her bottom lip to 
refrain from picking up where she’d left off. 
“I take care of what’s mine, Michaela Marie, by whatever 
means I need to use.” He tucked the pistol into the back of his 
trousers, took her by the elbow and guided her back to the 
carriage. “You would do well to remember that.” 
Mica’s breath caught at the intensity of his expression, and 
the heat from his hands as he lifted her onto the seat. She 
subconsciously touched the key around her neck, wondering if 
she shouldn’t make a hasty retreat back to her own world. While 
his touch thrilled her beyond words, she wondered if a mere 
door between the centuries would ever be enough to keep her 
from wanting him. 
He climbed aboard and released the horses, clicking softly 
to urge them forward. She turned her thoughts to other matters. 
“If you fire Mr. Jacobs, how will you manage your island?” 
“I’ll do it myself, if I have to. They all think the same.” 
Mica knew he referred to the slaves. “But the Afri…uh, 
Negroes are slaves.” 
“Mine aren’t,” he lashed out, then softened his tone. “You 
wouldn’t understand.” 
“Why? Because I’m a female?” Her statement brought a 
grin to his dirt-streaked face. 
“You are definitely female, but that isn’t why. I guess 
because so many people don’t understand, I assumed you 
wouldn’t, either. I shouldn’t have jumped to that conclusion. I 
apologize.” 
His sincerity touched a chord deep within her. In the short 
span of a few days, she found she cared very much what Logan 
thought, not only about her, but also about his way of life. 
“Tell me. I promise I’ll try to understand. At least I won’t 
judge you.” 
He rested his elbows on his knees, letting the horses find 
their own leisurely way down the path. “Many years ago, when 
Father still lived, we discussed freeing the slaves and paying 

them a wage for their labors based on the profits we made. It 
only stood to reason that if they had an investment in the work 
they did, they would work harder to make the island a success.” 
He snorted. “Father died before he could find a lawyer 
willing to draw up the necessary legal documents to make 
Indigo Bay a slave-free island. At that time, it amounted to the 
same thing as treason against the South, as you probably well 
know.” 
Mica understood better than he would ever know. Even in 
her time, prejudice and segregation issues were still very volatile 
topics to many deep-rooted Southerners. 
“So how have you managed to free your slaves, especially 
when the abolition issue is beginning to heat up?” 
He raised an eyebrow. “You have read about the abolition 
movement?” When Mica nodded, he went on to answer her 
original question. “I went to school to become a lawyer. I felt 
the only way to make changes was through legal avenues. I’m 
not the only one to feel this way, though most of the antislavery 
sentiment is in the Northern states. Just last year, Representative 
Lincoln introduced a bill to end slavery.” 
“Abraham Lincoln?” Her astonishment must have been 
clearly written on her face, but Mica couldn’t help it. Her 
fantasy about jumping back two centuries had focused around 
Logan. Up until that instant she hadn’t given a thought to the 
historical people who were alive and doing their incredible 
work at this very moment. 
Logan misinterpreted her exclamation. “I see you have 
heard something about politics, then. Well, it did Mr. Lincoln 
no good, because our very own Senator J.C. Calhoun has blasted 
abolitionists at every turn.” 
Without thought, Mica stated, “It will lead to war, you 
know.” 
“Oh, I doubt that.” Logan countered. “The people of the 
United States are many things, but it would go against 
everything we believe in to fight against our own people, no 
matter what the issue. No, the President and the Northern 
constituents will eventually see that the South is capable of 
taking care of itself and will let us do so.” 

Mica realized she couldn’t fault his logic, nor could she 
dispute what he said unless she gave him evidence to the 
contrary. Whatever the rules governing this adventure of hers, 
she instinctively knew better than to make a comment about 
his future that was her past. 
“Damn! Look at that. Acres of lost crop. Why?” 
Muttering to himself, he climbed down from the carriage 
and stormed off, kicking clumps of dirt and jerking the charred 
remains of indigo plants from the ground. 
Left to fend for herself, Mica almost tripped over the 
cumbersome length of skirt before her feet hit the ground. Her 
training in law and associated work with detectives soon had 
her checking the ground for evidence as to the origins of the 
fire. 
“Do you smell anything peculiar?” Logan asked. 
Mica stopped and lifted her head into the breeze. “Nothing 
other than the burnt odor. What do you smell?” 
Instead of answering her, Logan knelt by a plant at the 
edge of the field, rubbing his hand up the still green stalk. He 
lifted his hand to his nose, then swore in such colorful language 
Mica blushed. 
“Lamp oil. This field did not burn by accident.” As Logan 
rubbed his hand clean with his handkerchief, his eyes scanned 
the area for other signs of deliberate arson. 
Mica watched his face, wary of his reaction. She didn’t 
know him well enough to be able to predict how he would 
react to deliberate sabotage, and she was reluctant to stand in 
the way of his anger. While she waited for his reaction, she 
noticed the frown lines around his usually gentle mouth, and 
the dark shadows under his eyes. 
She looked beyond his immediate outrage and realized how 
tired he must be. He had been up half the night fighting a fire 
only to come home and have to chase her down the beach. 
Then he sat up with her for the remainder of the night while 
she slept peacefully. 
“Come, let’s go home. There doesn’t appear to be anything 
more you can do here.” She spoke softly, offering her hand in 
comfort. 

He caught her hand, his fingers warm as they wrapped 
around hers. “You’re right, of course. It’s just that I didn’t need 
a further financial setback. Damn! Someone ruined half the 
crop. Lives depended on that harvest.” 
“I thought the crop had already been harvested.” 
“Only the first cutting. It’s necessary to get two good 
cuttings a season to make it through a year.” His shoulders 
sagged, and she wished she could help him shirk the weight of 
responsibility for just a little while. He gave her a wan smile. 
“There is naught I can do about it now. I’m afraid your first 
day has not proven very entertaining, nor myself a very gracious 
host.” 
“Nonsense. I have learned a great deal about this island 
you call Indigo Bay.” She added to herself, And a great deal 
about you, Logan Rutledge. The sensitive, caring man who 
led her back to the carriage was almost too perfect, and Mica 
hoped the dream would not end anytime soon. 
*** 
Mica found the next week at Indigo Bay both enjoyable 
and frustrating. Logan had questioned the proprietor of the 
Belleview Hotel about her clothes, and since they hadn’t arrived, 
he took the liberty of purchasing some gowns for her. She 
couldn’t take exception to his forwardness since she had nothing 
else to wear. He hadn’t questioned it when she said she had 
given Lana the message to take to the hotel. 
It proved difficult for her to adjust to the layers of clothes 
required to dress, and she finally decided that one petticoat 
under any skirt would just have to suffice. She flat out refused 
to wear a corset. Even with those adjustments, she had to change 
her manner of walking so her skirts didn’t bunch between her 
legs. 
She began to enjoy her leisurely baths instead of a quick 
shower. She had to get used to a copper cistern holding heated 
water that sat at one end of the tub, while the pump for cold 
water was at the other end. The servants were responsible for 
keeping the holding tank full, along with lighting the small 
fire below to heat the water. 
Mica had found no problems with this system until the 

day she tried to take a bath earlier than her normal time. She 
found the well water cold enough to turn her toes blue. While 
she had been trying to do away with schedules in her life, it 
appeared some things still required them. 
Meals at Indigo Bay were pure pleasure. Not only did Annie 
cook scrumptious food, but Logan always joined her in the 
evening. Since her mother had always believed in dressing for 
dinner—and using all the forks, spoons and good crystal she 
could possibly get at one place setting—Mica felt quite 
comfortable, knowing her manners would hold up under 
scrutiny. 
Time seemed the hardest obstacle to overcome. She would 
rise early, as she always had, but Logan would already be out 
in the fields or at the processing sheds. She didn’t want to eat 
alone in the large dining room, so she would have breakfast in 
the kitchen as Annie worked. 
Every day Lana fluttered about her, stating how unladylike 
it was for her to dirty her hands in the kitchen with the help. 
She had tried several times to press her point home by bringing 
Mica’s breakfast to her room. Mica would always stay one 
step ahead, meeting her at the top of the stairs and carrying the 
tray right back to the kitchen to enjoy it with company. 
However, eating in the kitchen and taking long walks on 
the beach didn’t set aside her restlessness. As a lawyer, she 
maintained a busy schedule, and she felt useless here. One night 
at dinner, she tried to explain her feelings to Logan, but he 
refused to listen. 
“You are not to work—it is not your place.” 
“To hell with my place. I need something to do.” She 
scowled when he just smiled at her. 
“What can you do, then?” 
“I can...” Mica paused. What could she do? Though capable 
of cleaning and cooking, she couldn’t take Lana’s or Annie’s 
jobs away from them. Mica felt inadequate when she realized 
all her education couldn’t make her a competent person in this 
time. 
“Can you test indigo? Or perhaps weave thread into cloth? 
Can you whip the fermented indigo froth for hours at a time 

until it is ready to settle?” Logan questioned. 
“Of course not.” She felt tears sting the inside of her eyelids 
and bit her bottom lip to stop its trembling. Logan rose from 
his chair and came to hers, sliding it away from the table and 
gathering her into his arms. 
“I’m sorry. That was rude of me. As a lady, your place is 
not in the fields working, and I shouldn’t have suggested it 
was.” 
“But...” 
He touched a finger to her lips to silence her protest. “I 
guess I will just have to find a way to keep you busy, won’t I?” 
The next days passed in a whirlwind of activity, and Mica 
fell exhausted into bed each night, even though she never left 
the island. Logan had responsibilities he attended to every 
morning, but each afternoon, he took her exploring to a different 
part of the island. One day they rode in the buggy to the cliffs, 
just to stand and watch the waves crash against the rocks. She 
had laughed and danced around him as the ocean spray 
dampened their clothes and sat like angel mist upon their hair. 
While she had not forgotten her former life, she preferred 
not to dwell on it, or the number of days slipping away. 
Unfortunately, it came back to her with crashing force the day 
Logan invited her to ride, and took her to the stables which 
were located to the south of the house. Upon rounding the corner 
on the path from the manor, she noticed the skeletal structure 
of an addition on the south side. She froze, her heart skipping 
several beats as she mentally visualized Sea Crest and its 
relation to Logan’s Indigo Bay. 
“Are you planning an addition to Sea...Indigo Bay?” She 
unconsciously touched the key dangling from her neck. 
Logan scowled at the structure. “Seaton had plans to expand 
the main house, sinking his money into that instead of the land. 
He died before it could be finished.” His voice held no remorse. 
Mica’s voice shook as she questioned him. “How does it 
stand in relation to the inside?” 
Logan pointed to the second story, which had few 
supporting studs and no floor. “There is a door. Do you see 
it?” At her nod, he continued. “The door at the end of the second 

floor hall would have led into this section. I don’t even know 
where the key is at this moment, nor do I care. Perhaps some 
day, when I have righted all the wrongs done by my stepfather, 
I will complete the addition.” 
Mica heard hurt and betrayal in his voice, and again she 
realized how much he valued the land over material possessions. 
Honor and tradition bound him to the land, and she longed for 
a way to help him keep what was his. 
A chill ran down her spine as she took one last look at the 
structure—to the Sea Crest that hadn’t even been built on this 
day, yet somehow magically lay beyond that door. She hurried 
to catch up with Logan, determined to leave her fears behind 
with the ghostlike framework. 
They rode that day down to the beach, racing their horses 
along the waves and playing among the tide like wayward 
children. She soon forgot her apprehensions as Logan 
smothered her with salt-tinged kisses every time she allowed 
him to catch her. As the sun set on the other side of the island, 
the last rays of daylight played off the rolling waves, creating 
a cascade of color. Logan twined his fingers with hers as they 
walked the horses back towards the stable. Mica wondered 
why every day couldn’t be the paradise she had found here. 
*** 
The next day, Mica sat on the verandah and stared out over 
the gardens, awed by what she had just discovered. Inside her, 
she had become aware of a new sense of self. She had found 
she was no longer impatient and could relax and take things as 
they came. Suddenly, she understood what a joy life could be 
without schedules and timetables to run her day. 
She recognized and accepted the fact that her contentment 
rested for the most part on Logan’s presence. She had found 
him very demonstrative—a hand on her elbow, a touch to her 
cheek. Even his eyes seemed to caress her when she’d look up 
to find his gaze on her. For someone used to independence and 
holding feminist viewpoints, she found Logan occupying more 
and more of her thoughts—and all of her dreams. 
It had been so easy to fall into his world, accepting his 
attention and reveling in the wonderful sensations he caused 

inside her. He had done nothing more than kiss her, sometimes 
with intense passion, and sometimes with an equally erotic 
gentleness. Yet each night as he walked her to her bedroom 
door, bestowing a final kiss upon her cheek or brow, she longed 
for more—much more. She thought, perhaps, the time had come 
to return to Sea Crest and regain her perspective. 
Silently, Logan observed Michaela from the door leading 
to the verandah. At times he felt guilty, as though he kept her 
prisoner on the island. They hadn’t heard anything from her 
people at Sea Crest, nor had her clothes arrived. But instead of 
seeking word, he had played ignorant and continued to enjoy 
her company. 
Everything about her fascinated him—from the way she 
tucked her hair behind her ear, to her laugh, to her avid interest 
in the work done on the island. She was quite unconventional 
in both language and manner, as now, when she had her feet 
propped on the seat of her chair, her knees tucked under her 
chin. All the qualities he desired in a woman sat before him 
packaged in one intriguing bundle. 
She had a willingness to work and could carry on a lively 
discussion. She didn’t appear to care about material possessions 
or fashion at all, for he often caught her without her shoes and 
stockings, and he knew from holding her that she wore no 
corset. The simple fact that she did not covet those things made 
him wish he could shower her with gifts to let her know he 
thought her wonderful. He had not known her very long, but 
Logan wondered if he had succumbed to love. Just the 
thought sent blood pounding through his veins. She made him 
feel alive and capable of doing anything. How he longed to 
take her in his arms and carry their passion beyond the kisses 
they had shared. 
Sometimes, though, when she thought he didn’t see, her 
face took on a dreamy quality, like she was a million miles 
away. He searched her face now and found her staring into 
space. Her distraction frightened him, for he didn’t know how 
to reach her. 
What if he woke up one morning and found her gone again? 

Six
“You should be dressing.” Logan spoke from the shadows, 
shaking Mica from her daydreams. “We don’t want to be late 
for your official debut into Cameron society.” 
He strolled toward her, and for a moment, she dismissed 
what he said in favor of soaking in his image. Dressed in a 
dove gray cutaway coat, white shirt and cravat, and snug black 
trousers that showed the very outline of his muscular legs, he 
presented the picture of a perfect Southern gentleman. His dark 
hair was tied back with a satin ribbon, and Mica wondered if 
there could possibly be a more handsome man. His devilish 
grin told her he knew it, too. 
She had to clear her throat in order to speak. “You didn’t 
tell me we were going out. We aren’t going to hear Miss Sophie 
Wainwright sing, are we?” 
He laughed, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I would 
not subject you to that.” 
“I can’t possibly take a bath, do my hair—” 
“Lana has your bath ready. If you hurry, we won’t be more 
than fashionably late.” 
Excited at the prospect of meeting other people from this 
time, Mica shot up from the chair and scurried towards the 
door, Logan’s laughter ringing in her ears. 
She felt a twinge of guilt as Lana helped her slip a midnight 
blue silk dress over the several petticoats required for its bell 
shape. When her own clothes hadn’t shown up at the hotel, 
Logan had come home with his arms piled high with boxes. 
They had contained dresses, shoes, petticoats and everything 
else necessary to dress her in style. She had protested, knowing 
he could ill afford to spend money on her, but he had insisted. 

Since few of his mother’s clothes fit her, she had relented. 
Now, she was glad she had, because she felt like a fairy 
princess attending a ball. Her dress, draped off the shoulders 
with two ruffles of silk that created short sleeves, had a snug 
bodice and a pinched waist that made Mica feel dainty and 
feminine. 
Though her hair was unusually short according to Lana, 
the maid had helped her pin it up in a simple twist. What wisps 
escaped their handiwork curled softly about her face and nape. 
As Logan escorted her down the steps to the buggy, he 
complimented her on her attire, her hair, even the way her skin 
glowed. But all the while his eyes didn’t strayed far from her 
cleavage. 
Finally, she kissed him to shut him up. Then he threatened 
not to take her out at all, but keep her prisoner and ravish her 
until the sun set one hundred days from now. Though he spoke 
in a joking manner, Mica decided it wouldn’t take much for 
her to take him up on his suggestion. 
As they crossed the causeway linking Indigo Bay with the 
mainland, he spoke in a neutral tone, and she decided she would 
have to settle for a night on the town instead of a night of 
passion. 
“I would beg your indulgence tonight and ask that you not 
mention the fire nor the damage it did to my crops,” he said. 
She turned to him in surprise. “Why? Don’t you discuss 
business with your friends?” 
He smiled in the moonlight. “We speak only of success, 
not of failure.” 
“In other words, you brag.” It appeared the male species 
had not evolved much in the last hundred-plus years. 
“You are correct.” He leaned over and quickly kissed her 
cheek. “Tonight I will be the toast of the party and have much 
to brag about, for I will have on my arm the loveliest woman in 
the county.” 
“Only one county?” She couldn’t help teasing him, though 
she blushed at his compliment. 
“Several counties, then.” He laughed and clicked to the 
horses, speeding up their arrival at the party and agitating the 

butterflies that had taken up residence in Mica’s stomach. 
Curiosity made her want to meet Logan’s friends, but she 
was deathly afraid they wouldn’t accept her, or she would 
embarrass him in some way. Seeming to read her thoughts, he 
patted her clenched hands as they arrived in front of a huge 
mansion set back from the road and surrounded by a lush lawn. 
“You will be a smash. I promise. Just follow my lead and 
be yourself.” He jumped down, tied the horses to the hitching 
post, and returned to the side of the buggy to lift her down. His 
hands lingered at her waist, and his gaze held hers captive for 
an instant in time. She parted her lips in a gasp as she read the 
desire and passion deep in his gaze. Obviously, her gasp seemed 
invitation enough, because Logan stole a kiss before he released 
her with a sigh. 
“It will have to wait until later, for I fear our arrival has 
been noted,” Logan said, for someone called his name—a man’s 
voice inviting them to join the festivities. 
Judith and Gray Cavanaugh, their hosts for the evening, 
welcomed Mica with warm smiles. Judith confided that Gray 
and Logan had known each other all their lives and had 
remained friends even when Logan went north to school. 
“And just how did you come across this jewel, Logan? 
Your brashness usually doesn’t attract such beauty.” Gray 
slapped his friend on the back, and they both laughed goodnaturedly. 
“She’s visiting her Aunt Theodora Josephine Ashley, but, 
unfortunately, her aunt came down with a chill,” Logan replied. 
“Not wanting to spoil her niece’s evening, she insisted I bring 
her along.” 
Mica opened her mouth to protest, but Logan’s wink 
reminded her of his earlier comment—follow my lead. 
“Ashley? Any relation to the Ashley’s of Charleston?” Gray 
frowned in concentration, and Mica worried she would be found 
out. 
“Very good, Gray. You’re not as senile as they keep 
accusing,” Logan remarked before she could answer. The 
gentlemen laughed once again. 
As soon as they moved aside to allow new arrivals to greet 

their hosts, Mica couldn’t help questioning him. “Why on earth 
would you tell them my aunt is indisposed? Is that a polite way 
of saying dead?” 
Instead of answering right away, Logan tucked her arm in 
his and walked her around the fringes of the large room. Ornate 
furnishings, beautiful flocked wallpaper, and high ceilings lent 
the room an air of elegance not found in modern homes. Not 
yet comfortable with the hoop skirts she wore, Mica feared 
she would break something, for bric-a-brac sat everywhere— 
on pedestals, shelves on the walls, and even the backs of the 
sofas contained varying sizes of fragile figurines. 
While decorated in what she realized must be the current 
trend, she much preferred Indigo Bay’s more simple style, and 
the uncluttered look maintained throughout Logan’s home. 
Logan’s soft voice near her ear brought her back to the 
subject at hand. “Why would I tell them you are visiting an 
aunt, instead of announcing you are staying with me 
unchaperoned? Somehow, I doubt you are that naive.” 
About the 1850’s, I am, she longed to say in answer to his 
mocking comment. 
“Look around you,” he continued. “There is a great need 
in our society to appear proper. Strict rules of etiquette give 
them all a feeling of order and control. Some of our generation 
still cannot grasp the changes that are occurring, with the new 
inventions and all, so they try to hide their insecurities behind 
a moral facade.” 
“You mean they’re really not so righteous?” 
He grinned and whispered. “I can give you names. Or better 
yet, you try to guess which ones are a step or two below 
sainthood. For every one you miss, you owe me a kiss.” 
Ever the dangerous male animal, his breath was hot against 
her neck. Mica’s blood heated, and soon her heart pounded 
twice as fast as usual. Still, she decided to play his game. 
“And what if I guess correctly? What do I win?” 
“In that case, I owe you a kiss.” His smile so dazzled her 
that it only occurred to her later in the evening that their bet 
was one-sided. 
The party had been planned as a simple get-together, so 

guests were free to mingle and visit instead of sitting to be 
entertained by a pianist or singer. Mica laughed at the stories 
told her about Logan in his youth. She enjoyed the people she 
met—politician John Greenwood and his wife, Elizabeth, the 
Applegates, and of course, the Cavanaughs. 
Nicholas Westfall, an attorney in Cameron, intrigued her. 
She tried repeatedly to engage him in conversation regarding 
the law, if only to find out how far statutes had progressed to 
this point. Every time she initiated a conversation, however, 
he would either change the subject or speak directly to Logan, 
as though she were not there. 
She came to realize Logan was unique in his regard for 
women. He actually conversed with her and he listened closely 
to her responses. Most of the men here, from what she could 
gather, felt women were frivolous attachments to be used for 
social status. How sad for the women, she thought, and how 
sad that the men didn’t realize what they were missing. 
She finally left the circle of men and wandered about the 
room, letting the atmosphere soak into her like the champagne 
she drank. As she did, conversations flowed around her. From 
the snatches she overheard, she realized her earlier nervousness 
had been unnecessary. Socializing in this century varied little 
from the twenty-first century country club set. Women gossiped 
about children, fashion, decorating and the latest scandal. The 
gentlemen’s conversations focused on business, money and 
politics. She had to smile, for each was intent on besting the 
other’s story. 
She leaned down to place her empty glass on a side table 
when she had the eerie feeling someone watched her. Her gaze 
quickly scanned the room, and she saw him. Standing off by 
himself, his handsome features distorted by the sulky droop of 
his mouth and his hard green eyes, Neil Seaton glared at her. 
They hadn’t been properly introduced, but she recognized him 
from the day he’d knocked her off her feet as he’d stormed out 
of Logan’s library. 
He looked as though he wanted her dead, and she had no 
idea why. Perhaps he thought she would interrupt his dealings 
with Logan. Hoping she could say something to help mend the 

feelings between Logan and his stepbrother, she moved in his 
direction, but a hand on her elbow stopped her. 
“Ready to eat?” Logan had come to claim her for a late 
supper, and when he didn’t mention seeing Neil, she decided 
she wouldn’t bring it up. 
“Thomas, come sit by us.” The greeting came from Mr. 
Applegate, and Mica was surprised when Logan pulled her in 
his direction. She could not contain her astonishment when the 
man repeated the name and Logan responded. 
“Thomas, good to see you back. My condolences on your 
mother’s death. Both she and your father were good friends of 
ours.” 
“I appreciate your concern, William,” Logan answered. 
He held a chair out for Mica, and she all but fell into it. 
William had apparently misplaced his wife, Susan, and he 
hurried off to locate her, giving Mica the time she needed. 
“Who the hell is Thomas?” 
“Tsk, such language,” he said with a grin and she blushed. 
“My father’s name was Thomas Logan Rutledge, and I’m 
named after him. In order to avoid confusion, I asked to be 
called Logan. All my friends refer to me as such.” He glanced 
in William’s direction. The latter now had a short, plump woman 
in tow. “Some of Father’s friends still refer to me as Thomas, 
or Thomas Junior.” He wrinkled his nose in apparent distaste. 
Mica felt faint. A memory swirled in her head that was too 
incredible to believe. Again, as her aunt lay dying, she heard 
her –say, “Thomas needs you—go to him. You’re the only one 
who can save him. Thomas can make you happy.” 
Because of her aunt’s bequest, she had come to Sea Crest 
and found Logan, whose name was actually Thomas. Was 
Logan the Thomas she’d been referring to? 
“Are you all right? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” 
Logan leaned toward her, his hand touching her knee beneath 
the tablecloth. 
Mica wanted to laugh at his choice of words, but the arrival 
of the Applegates, and the serving of the meal, saved her from 
having to make a response. She sat in numbed silence through 
most of the courses, telling herself that it had to be a 

coincidence. 
She managed to answer questions and commented in turn 
on the delicious food, though she couldn’t have told anyone 
what she ate. She couldn’t initiate a conversation, however, 
and wanted nothing more than to get Logan alone and question 
him further. 
Following the meal, the women retired to the sitting room 
while the men smoked their cigars and enjoyed their drinks. 
When they joined the ladies again, Judith Cavanaugh organized 
several tables of cards. Logan asked Mica if she played, and 
when she shook her head, he suggested a walk in the gardens 
while the others engaged in the games. 
“You were exceedingly quiet during supper, and your color 
appears quite pale. Are you sure you feel all right?” Logan 
asked, voicing his concern as he strolled beside her. 
“May we sit?” Mica asked, pausing beside a stone bench. 
At Logan’s nod, she arranged her full skirts so she could be 
comfortable. He remained standing, one foot propped on the 
bench and his arm across his knee, his gaze intent on her face. 
During their meal, Mica had sorted and discarded several 
options with regard to his real name. Now, she wondered how 
to broach the subject of her aunt without triggering too many 
questions in his mind. Perhaps it would be better not to say 
anything at all. 
“You have a question.” When she glanced up at him, he 
said, “Don’t look so surprised. Your beautiful face is very 
easy to read.” 
His comment caused a flush to creep up her neck. She 
shifted her gaze away from his, afraid he would read things 
better not known. “It’s just that...my aunt mentioned someone 
named Thomas once.” 
“Perhaps she meant my father. They would be closer in 
age, I would think.” His gaze never left her, but Mica could 
tell he reflected on her question. “Now that you have made me 
think on it, I do recall Aunt Margaret speaking of a friend of 
hers, but the name was only Theo.” 
Mica leaned forward. “I called her Theo, though she always 
said she preferred Theodora Josephine. May I speak to your 

Aunt Margaret?” It didn’t seem possible that two women from 
different centuries would have known each other, but Mica 
was living proof that strange things did happen at Sea Crest. 
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. My aunt died several 
years ago.” 
Mica hung her head in defeat. She didn’t honestly know 
what she had hoped for. Perhaps she wanted to find some small 
piece of evidence to explain why she had been allowed to come 
here. 
Logan turned and sat beside her, his arm curving around 
her shoulders and pulling her close. “Why would you want to 
dig up old ghosts? I can think of better ways to occupy your 
time.” 
The instant his lips grazed hers, Mica forgot everything 
and reveled in the taste of him. The heat from his kiss sizzled 
in the already sultry night as her arms circled his neck to pull 
him closer. 
“Hold me. Touch me.” She didn’t realize she had begged 
until she heard him groan low in his throat. He kissed a feverish 
path down her throat to where her breasts pushed up against 
the fabric of her dress. She ached to have him closer—longed 
for nothing to be between them except the heat she felt in his 
touch. 
She slid her hands down the inside of his coat, searching 
for the buttons of his shirt. Her hands trembled trying to undo 
the tiny studs even as his own hand slipped into her bodice to 
capture her breast, his thumb rubbing her nipple to a tight peak. 
“Heaven help me, I want you in the worst way,” he rasped 
against her ear, and she leaned into his hand. 
Unable to work his buttons open, she quit her attempt and 
slid her hand down his chest to his waist, then lower to caress 
the bulge in his trousers. He jerked, grabbing her wrist and 
bringing it to his lips where he planted a heated kiss to her 
palm. 
“Woman, you will have me embarrassing myself in an 
instant, if you don’t quit.” Though he said the words, the passion 
in his voice and his heated gaze told Mica that he didn’t want 
her to quit. 

“Take me home, Logan.” A request—a command—and 
they both knew it meant much more than a simple ride back to 
Indigo Bay. 
Logan had wanted Michaela for so long he wasn’t about 
to ignore her request. He made their excuses as rapidly as 
possible, keeping her in front of him to hide his arousal as they 
bid good night to Judith and Gray. The instant he lifted Michaela 
into the buggy and climbed in next to her, she picked up where 
she had left off by sliding her hand up the inside of his thigh. 
His hands trembled as he tried to control the horses and set 
them a course for home, but Michaela made it impossible for 
him to concentrate. 
Holding the reins with one hand, he slid his free hand 
around the back of her neck and pulled her close. He turned to 
kiss her smiling lips with a hunger he had never felt before. 
“You are a she-devil.” Though he longed to do otherwise, 
he returned his gaze to the road, steering the horses around the 
last curve before they came to the causeway leading to Indigo 
Bay. “Now behave yourself, or you will cause me to drive my 
horses right off the road and into the water.” 
The moon caught a twinkle of mischief in her eyes, and 
before he could stop her, she had slipped her hand between the 
buttons on his shirt to touch his bare chest. A lightning bolt of 
heat sizzled through him, and the pleasure-pain throbbing in 
his groin intensified as he savored her caress. 
With more control than he thought he had left, he urged 
the horses to a trot, hoping he could last long enough to get 
them to the house. He misjudged his control—badly—for when 
Michaela leaned over and tickled his ear with her tongue, he 
thought he would explode. 
“Whoa!” He jerked on the reins, bringing the horses to a 
swift stop the instant they crossed the causeway. In one 
movement, he jumped clear of the buggy and turned around, 
grabbing Michaela by the waist and lifting her clear of the 
wheels. 
“Logan, what in the world...” Her question hung in the air 
between them as his long strides took them away from the road. 
He stopped beneath a small stand of trees that fringed the 

edge of the bank, their leafy shadows hiding the two of them in 
the night. Logan allowed her legs to slide to the ground but 
kept his arms around her to pull her against him. 
His heart pounded rapidly, and he wondered at his ability 
to still speak. “Never in my life have I allowed anyone to control 
me. Never—until now.” He tilted her head, his mouth crushing 
hers in a hungry kiss. When her lips parted to his questing 
tongue, the passion she had ignited swept through him. 
Mica felt an urgent ache deep inside and knew only Logan 
could appease it—had known long before they almost let 
themselves go in the Cavanaugh’s garden. And even while she 
recognized the danger of depending on this man for her 
happiness—to care for him far more than she logically should— 
she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave herself over to 
him. 
“Logan, I want...” His kisses drove her wild, and he 
wouldn’t stop long enough for her to speak. 
“Shh, my love, don’t waste your breath speaking. Show 
me what you want.” As he spoke, he nibbled his way to her 
ear, his breath warm and erotic against her skin. He bent his 
knees and pulled her with him until they sprawled on the soft 
grass, clinging to each other. 
Mica jerked his shirt out of his trousers as his hand slid up 
her leg beneath her skirt. Her hands were a wild frenzy of 
motion as she tore at the shirt’s buttons. His touch left her 
trembling, and she couldn’t get close enough to him. She 
moaned when his lips left hers to trace a path of fire down her 
throat. She wrapped her leg around his thigh to pull him closer. 
Momentarily gratified to feel his manhood hard against her, 
she soon began rocking erotically against him. Mindless, she 
told him what she wanted him to do to her, whispering her 
licentious desires against his ear as he bent to nuzzle her breasts. 
Logan kissed her with abandon, and then lost touch with 
reality as she wantonly rubbed against him. Nothing in his 
experience had prepared him for this woman’s erotic response 
to him, nor the very colorful suggestions she whispered in his 
ear. 
“God, sweetheart,” he moaned against her skin, jerking 

the bodice of her gown even lower until her breasts sprang 
free. Hungrily he savored first one then the other, his hand 
cupping her buttocks to pull her tighter against him. She rocked 
her hips, nearly sending him to premature ecstasy. He rolled 
her onto her back, his hips settling into the cradle of her thighs. 
While she pulled his coat and shirt off to caress his back, he 
bent his head to nuzzle her breasts, the nipples puckered tight 
and jutting up in invitation. 
She writhed beneath him, moaning his name, while her 
hands found his flat nipples and teased them to hard peaks. 
She arched her back, silently begging him for more, and though 
he wanted to gladly oblige her, he knew if they didn’t slow 
down the end would come too fast. 
He slid to her side, keeping one leg across her hips, and 
his manhood snug against her. He kissed the side of her neck, 
her ear, and the hollow behind. Her hands slid frantically down 
his chest to the waist of his trousers. His breath caught, but he 
took her wrists in his hand and stilled her movements by 
pressing them against his chest. 
“Logan, please.” Her breasts heaved with her ragged 
breathing, and he feasted on the sight of them in the shadowy 
moonlight. Her pleas tugged at his heart and created a sweet 
agony in much lower regions. 
“Shh, love, be still a moment. You’re causing me the 
greatest distress.” He growled the request, having a difficult 
time not letting her have her way with him. But he wanted to 
proceed slowly, to savor each moment he had dreamed about 
constantly since her arrival at his door. 
“You’ll think distress, if you don’t finish what you started.” 
Michaela gazed at him, her eyes flashing in the moonlight. 
He fully intended to see their lovemaking through to 
completion. However, he could not resist teasing her, even in 
the throes of passion. 
“I don’t believe I started this delightful interlude, dearest. 
I really think—” 
“I don’t want to talk, damn you.” 
His laughter rendered him helpless as she pushed against 
his chest. He rolled to his back, bringing her with him. Her 

breasts dangled at a level just above his mouth, and he couldn’t 
resist taking the rosy tip of one, sucking gently. She arched her 
back above him, her hands propped in the grass at his head. 
He marveled at the beauty of her face, tense with sexual 
delight. Her luscious black hair fell forward to curtain her face, 
and her skin was iridescent in the silver moonlight. Long, sooty 
lashes rested against her cheeks as her eyes closed in ecstasy. 
Wanting to view the rest of her, Logan quickly unfastened 
the buttons down the back of her dress. She helped him slide 
the remainder of her clothes over her head, flinging then to the 
ground. Without shame or embarrassment over her nakedness, 
she straddled his belly and looked down at him, passion 
gleaming vividly in her eyes as her hands slid in a slow, 
sensuous pattern across his chest. Time and again, her thumbs 
flicked his nipples, her hips rocking against his skin, igniting 
more fires where he feared he would already go up in smoke. 
He reached up to cup her breasts, but suddenly found his 
arms pinned to the ground beneath her knees. Astonished at 
the aggressive role she had assumed, he looked up to find her 
lips curved in a seductive smile. 
“You, Mr. Rutledge, are far too slow. But then, perhaps 
that is all you are capable of, being a man of such advanced 
years. Maybe we should forego this game. I would hate to give 
you a heart attack at some crucial moment.” 
He could take no more of her taunts and instantly rolled 
her over and came down on her, crushing her breasts beneath 
his chest, his lips silencing any further words. Her tongue came 
out to tease his own, and her hands at his waist helped unfasten 
his trousers. 
The instant his manhood sprang free, she caressed the 
length of him, causing him to cry out in pure ecstasy. He grabbed 
her wrists and held them above her head, thrusting his hips 
forward. In one tumultuous surge, he buried himself deep within 
her. 
Mica cried out as Logan came into her, sensitive to his 
every touch. She wrapped her legs around his waist, refusing 
to allow him to move while she reveled in the passionate 
sensations shooting throughout her. Never had she experienced 

the tremendous hunger he created in her body—the desire to 
crawl into his skin and become one being. He released her 
wrists and braced himself above her, and she hugged him tighter 
as he began to move in and out. He withdrew almost to the 
brink of her, only to slide back in, his slow movements more 
erotic than the faster pace she would have set. 
Again and again he came into her, each time pushing her 
closer to orgasm. While all her senses focused on his hips 
joining hers, he continued his caresses to her face, kissing her 
lips, her damp brow, whispering sweet love words and tickling 
her ear with his tongue. 
She clawed at his bare back as he increased his pace, his 
thrusts shooting electric currents throughout her body. He 
surged forward once more, this time melding his hips to hers. 
His release triggered her own, her body shattering into a 
thousand pieces, throbbing sensations squeezing her tightly 
around him. 
“Sweet, merciful heavens,” Logan exclaimed, his breath 
exhaling hotly against her neck as he collapsed on top of her. 
“Yeah.” Mica could think of no response. She didn’t want 
to think, period. 
Logan slid onto his side, his head propped on his hand. In 
the silence, Mica could hear his raspy breathing, which matched 
her own irregular gasps. The longer the silence lasted, the more 
uncomfortable she grew. Almost afraid to look him in the eye, 
she hoped she wouldn’t see disgust written on his features. 
In all probability, she had committed a major faux pas by 
being so forward with him. When she heard him chuckle, her 
eyes popped open, and she jerked her head toward him. Before 
she could curse him for laughing at her, he bent down and gave 
her a quick kiss, his lips still hot and moist from their 
lovemaking. 
“I am sorry to laugh, sweetness, but you had your face 
screwed up in the worst expression, as though you’d eaten a 
persimmon. Was it that terrible for you?” 
“Oh, Lord, no. Don’t ever think that. It was awesome— 
heaven, in fact. It’s just, well, I have the feeling you’re going 
to think I’m a terrible, loose woman to act the way I did.” 

“That I do, my dear. In fact, wanton would describe you 
better, I believe.” 
She couldn’t bear his twinkling eyes, or the grin on lips 
she still longed to kiss. She buried her head in his shoulder. 
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” 
“Michaela Marie, listen to me.” His hand caressed her 
cheek before cupping her chin and raising her face until they 
were practically nose-to-nose. 
“Nothing that happens between us shall ever be construed 
as wrong or in need of an apology. You are the most sensuous, 
beautiful woman I have even known, and I am extremely 
gratified you reacted as you did.” He paused, and Mica raised 
a brow, sensing he had more to say. 
“However, I do take exception to your comments regarding 
my age, and I guess I shall just have to show you that age 
builds not only character but also stamina.” 
*** 
The sun washed the sky in the palest pink of dawn by the 
time Mica and Logan returned to the house. Mica wasn’t at all 
sure she had her clothes on straight, but knew for a fact she 
didn’t have all her clothes, because Logan kept sliding his hand 
up her skirt, and her bare bottom still tingled from his caresses. 
They managed to stable the horses and sneak into the house 
without alerting Simon or Mattie, and Logan walked her to her 
bedroom door as he had on previous nights. She thought this 
ridiculous, but she supposed propriety still had a hold on him. 
“I’ll have Lana bring you up a tray.” He brushed her hair 
away from her face, his hand warm on her flushed skin. “I 
doubt you want to dress for breakfast, do you?” 
“No.” She whispered her answer, and then bit her tongue 
to keep from telling him what she really wanted. She turned to 
enter her room. 
“Michaela?” The hesitation in his voice caused a shiver of 
apprehension to snake down her spine. Slowly, she turned to 
face him. 
“I know I said that nothing in our relationship could ever 
be considered wrong, and I hope that you can confide in me 
and trust me, even if it is a dark secret.” 

She squinted at him, her brow furrowed. “What on Earth 
are you talking about?” 
“When we made love...you acted with a good deal of 
experience.” She couldn’t believe it, but sure as the world, 
Logan blushed. It didn’t take a Ph.D. to figure what he hinted 
at. 
“Logan, I’m twenty-nine years old. Of course I’m not a 
virgin.” At his look of astonishment, she softened her tone. “I 
was married before.” 
He instantly stiffened. “Married? I told you...is he dead?” 
She realized he wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. 
“No, I divorced him.” She sighed. “I can’t believe we’re 
having this discussion in the middle of the hall.” 
“What?” His voice sounded incredulous. “How the devil 
could you divorce him?” 
“Richard was irresponsible.” 
“You can’t divorce a man because he’s irresponsible.” 
Logan shook his head, and Mica realized not knowing the rules 
of etiquette might be one thing, but apparently there were 
morality rules during this century that were not taken lightly. 
She tried to explain. 
“Look, he went through his inheritance and bankrupted 
three businesses. Then he started in on my money.” 
“He would have been perfectly within his rights to use 
that money. When you marry, what you have belongs to your 
husband.” 
“Not under South Carolina law, it doesn’t.” 
“We’re in South Carolina, sweetheart, and although I 
haven’t taken the bar exam for this state, I doubt seriously the 
laws have changed since I finished law school.” 
“Changed? They...” She realized the hole she had dug. To 
distract him, she changed the subject. “When did you finish 
law school?” 
“I graduated two weeks after my mother died.” His tone 
hadn’t varied, but Mica could see the pain in his eyes. 
“She would have been so proud. Why haven’t you taken 
the bar?” 
Logan braced his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. 

He couldn’t understand how she had managed to turn the tables 
on him, putting him on the defensive. 
“When Mother died, I learned my father’s will had been 
entailed, and Indigo Bay became mine, not Neil’s. People 
depend on the plantation for their livelihoods, and that had to 
take precedence. With the fire and other problems I’ve incurred, 
I don’t have time to practice now, anyway.” 
Michaela’s face lit up, and again Logan’s body tightened. 
“You have time. We’ll make time. I can help you study.” 
“It’s dawn. We haven’t slept, and I’m exhausted!” Even as 
he said it, his body responded to the wiggle of her hips as she 
dragged him down the hall to the library. Just inside the door, 
which he closed, she left him and hurried across the room to 
light the lamp. 
Struggling for some control over the situation, he stated, 
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten why we argued. I’m not so easily 
distracted.” 
“Is that so?” She cocked her head to one side, lips curving 
into a seductive smile. 
He should have known better than to issue her a challenge. 
His hands clutched the doorknob as she reached behind her 
and undid the buttons of her dress, letting the garment slide 
from her shoulders to pool at her feet. Logan swallowed hard— 
she wore nothing underneath. He forgot his exhaustion, his 
mind blank to everything except the beauty who graced him 
with her smile and her quite naked body, glowing in the 
lamplight. 
As she glided across the space separating them, Logan 
realized he had fallen in love. Always one to scoff at the idea 
of love at first sight, he had fallen fast for this unpredictable, 
unconventional, wanton woman advancing towards him. He 
would allow her to assault his person, for she had already 
captured his heart and stolen his soul, even before he had tasted 
the nectar of her body. 
*** 
Mica woke up in bed later that day, smiling as she recalled 
Logan carrying her to his bedroom after they had made love in 
his study. When she stretched and rolled over, she caught the 

scent of flowers. Forcing her drowsy eyes open, she found the 
bed strewn with a colorful array of fragrant blossoms. She spied 
a sheet of paper nestled among the blooms and reached for it, 
thinking how romantic of Logan to shower her with flowers. 
They meant more to her than if he had given her a priceless 
gift. 
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she sniffed a rose as she 
unfolded his note. Her eyes widened and her breath came in 
short gasps the further she read. 
“My Dearest Michaela Marie, 
“Please do not think I have abandoned you, but urgent 
business has taken me from your side for a few days. 
“What I did abandon was my self control, but I cannot 
even apologize for that. The hours making love to you were 
the most exquisite of my life, and I shall be eternally 
grateful for the gift you gave me last night. 
“Upon my return, we shall discuss a date to marry. I 
consider myself an honorable man, and even if we had not 
relinquished ourselves to passion last eve, I would want to 
make you my wife and keep you by my side forever. 
“Keep me kindly in your thoughts until I can hold you 
in my arms once more. 
“With sincerest regards, T L R” 
“With sincerest regards?” Mica sputtered as she crumbled 
the paper and flung it across the room. She didn’t want to get 
married again, not that he had bothered to ask. Lord, men didn’t 
change, no matter what century they were from. 
As she bounced off the bed and began to dress, she admitted 
she was at blame. What had she thought? That she could waltz 
in and out of his life and not suffer the consequences? Given 
the times, and a gentleman of Logan’s period, Mica could 
understand his feelings on the subject. Honor and family meant 
everything to him, and she had no right deceiving him. 
However, from her twenty-first century viewpoint, if she 
were to marry again—and that was a big if—she would only 
do so for love. No more of this honor and respectability and 
family tradition crap. And sincerest regards didn’t sound like 

love to her. 
She tugged on her own clothes, knowing she had to leave 
Indigo Bay. When she turned and her gaze caught the flowers 
on the bed, however, she wanted to weep. She took a single 
rose and the note she had crumpled and left the room. 
She entered the door to Sea Crest. She realized she cared 
too much for a man on whom she had no claim, and there 
appeared to be more distance between their views than she 
knew how to bridge. As the door closed silently behind her, 
her rose turned to dust in her hand, and Logan’s note faded 
until the words were almost illegible, but they had already been 
branded on her heart. 

Seven
On previous occasions when Mica had visited Logan, no 
one knew she was gone because it had only been for a few 
hours at night. However, this morning when Mrs. Harris had 
casually asked her whereabouts over the past several days, Mica 
realized that Sea Crest and Indigo Bay ran on exactly the same 
timetable. To avoid having to explain her disappearances, she 
had mentioned vaguely that she was working on a case and not 
to worry if she was gone days at a time. 
Now, she sped towards Charleston, knowing she had to 
put some distance between herself and Sea Crest because the 
temptation to stay near Logan had been so strong it had made 
her physically ill. She stopped at a convenience store for 
antacids, but they did little to dispel her anxiety. Just as the 
gloomy rain battering the windows did little to improve her 
mood. It was ridiculous to feel that way, especially after getting 
so angry when she first read his note. 
Because of the time in which Logan lived, she could 
understand his overbearing attitude toward marrying her, even 
if he had told her instead of asking. What made her so upset 
was that, for a very brief time, she had actually thought about 
doing it. 
As soon as she got in her apartment, she called Katie and 
asked her to come for lunch. She hoped a visit with her friend 
would get Logan off her mind. 
“Katie, you’ve known me all your life, right?” Mica turned 
to her friend, who now sat in an overstuffed chair, legs curled 
under her. 
“Yeah, why?” 

“Have you ever known me to do anything not sensible? 
Have I ever strayed from the straight and narrow plan for my 
life?” Mica couldn’t quell the foreboding that something terribly 
wrong might occur because she had traversed time and ventured 
into the past. 
From the misgivings she had, she wondered if she had 
somehow upset history. Perhaps her longing for adventure had 
disrupted time waves, or ripples, or whatever science fiction 
writers called them. 
Katie looked up from the magazine on her lap. “What is 
this, a cross examination?” She gasped. “Oh, Mica, have you 
been picked up for speeding and need a character witness?” 
Mica had to smile at her friend’s theatrics, but it was true. 
She had never broken a law or done anything irresponsible. 
“Come on, help me out here, will you?” 
Katie scrunched up her face in thought. “Well, what about 
that time we smoked cigarettes out in the pool house after your 
parents went to bed?” 
“Katie, be serious! We were fourteen.” 
“I’m thinking...I’m thinking.” 
Mica went on as though Katie hadn’t spoken. “I mean, I 
always did what I was told. I had good grades and studied 
hard. Why would this happen to me?” She looked at her friend. 
“I’m a lawyer, for God’s sake. I believe in fact, not nonsense. 
Proof, not some long-dead apparitions or a machine that signals 
when ghosts appear.” 
She had explained just a little about the strange people in 
residence at Sea Crest, but she had not mentioned Logan. Yet 
somehow, she sensed his life was connected to Professor Bigley 
and the Barkers as much as Indigo Bay was connected with 
Sea Crest. 
Katie moved to the window, taking her hand. “Who are 
you trying to convince—me or yourself? Like you said, the 
man’s a quack. Did you do a background check on him?” 
Mica realized Katie thought she was upset because of the 
Professor. She decided not to alter that belief, because Katie 
would never comprehend the enormity of what Mica had 
done—even if she believed it, which was doubtful. 

“I asked around town, since he said he has been there 
several years before. He is what he says—a professor on 
sabbatical from Columbia, investigating paranormal 
phenomena.” 
“And he thinks there are ghosts at Sea Crest?” 
“Apparently. Look, I might go back. Come with me and 
see for yourself.” Perhaps if Katie went with her, she wouldn’t 
be tempted to cross that invisible line into Logan’s world. 
Logan’s image flashed in her mind, and her stomach 
plummeted. His kisses had fired her passion, and when they 
had made love—Mica silently moaned, her feminine core 
heating in remembrance of the exquisite torture he had put her 
through. She tried to focus on her friend’s voice. 
“I don’t know if I can get away. Matthew might not like 
it.” 
“Katie, show some independence! You slave away for Matt 
and the kids every day. You deserve some time to yourself.” 
Katie truly believed in her calling as a mother and wife, and 
chair of the Country Club Charity. She never did anything 
without Matt’s permission. Mica liked Matt, and Katie was a 
dear, but sometimes... 
“I’ll ask Matt.” Katie spun around and headed for the door. 
“Gotta run—school PTA is this afternoon. You will come for 
dinner tomorrow, won’t you?” 
“Do you promise not to serve up another Mr. Right?” 
“Honestly, Mica, just because Richard didn’t work out, 
don’t give up on men. We’ll find you one yet.” She waved and 
dashed out the door before Mica could tell her she had probably 
found the right man, but from the wrong century. 
Thomas Logan Rutledge—she must have been out of her 
mind to stay with him. Now, what could she do about the 
untenable situation she had created? Several easy solutions 
came to mind—seal the door at Sea Crest, never go up there 
again in this lifetime, or sell the place. 
Since Logan had no idea where she actually lived or the 
peculiarities regarding her arrival at Indigo Bay, she would 
never have to answer his questions. But Mica realized it 
wouldn’t be that easy. The fact was, she didn’t know if she 

could let him go. 
She grabbed a basket of dirty clothes and headed for the 
laundry room as she thought about the man whose life she had 
interrupted and who now wanted her to become a permanent 
part of it. Scared would be an understatement for the sensations 
gnawing at her middle and muddling her brain. She was terrified 
by the fact that she was even contemplating going back in 
time again, and her mind refused to dwell on the idea of actually 
staying back there. 
If Logan were a twenty-first century man living across town 
from her, she still would have hesitated before marrying him. 
She wasn’t sure she could give up her newfound independence 
for a man again, even for a man like Logan, who epitomized 
all the best qualities she could dream for in a life partner. 
His gentleness towards her, his sense of fairness and justice 
towards his freed slaves, and his humor and love of life were 
ideals Mica held close to her heart. That didn’t even take into 
account the way her heart catapulted whenever he was near, or 
the sensuous heights they had traveled that last night together. 
He symbolized everything she wanted and couldn’t have, all 
due to a breach in time. 
“Damn it all, anyway.” She let the lid to the washer bang 
down, the sound satisfying to her frustrated frame of mind. 
Her cell phone rang and she grabbed it off the counter. 
“Hello.” She didn’t care if she sounded bitchy. That was 
exactly how she felt at the moment. 
“Michaela, dear, you are home. I tried to call you at Sea 
Crest, but a nice woman named Anna said she hadn’t seen you 
in days. When did you get back?” 
“Hello, Mother. I’m not staying. I just came down to do a 
few things.” Mica knew she should have packed everything 
and come back to the city and to work, but she had time left— 
time to figure out what she wanted to do. 
“Well, as long as you’re in town, be here for dinner at 
seven. You know how your father detests late meals.” 
“Mother, I really don’t think I can make it.” 
“Michaela, I refuse to let my only daughter ruin her life.” 
“If you invited Richard to dinner, you won’t see me step 

foot inside the door.” Mica couldn’t understand why her mother 
wouldn’t let it go. 
“Now, dear, I don’t see why...” Mica heard a sigh on the 
other end of the line. “Please, come for dinner. I’ve found some 
old letters of your Aunt Theo’s.” 
Mica couldn’t resist, even knowing her mother would no 
doubt manage to bring Richard into the conversation at some 
point. “I’ll be there.” 
*** 
Dinner proved more pleasant than she expected, most likely 
because Richard hadn’t been invited. Since her mother refused 
to allow her father to discuss business at the table, Mica visited 
with him in the study after the meal. Trials had been scheduled 
and were being handled efficiently by junior executives, though 
her father reiterated his desire for her to return early. 
“Thirty days, Dad. That’s what you gave me, and that’s 
what I need.” The whole idea of taking time off had been to 
come to terms with her life and make the necessary adjustments 
to being a divorcée and career woman. So why did she now 
have doubts as to whether she really wanted that life any more? 
She seemed no closer to a resolution than when she had started 
her vacation. 
Even though her sensible, responsible side nagged her to 
return to work tomorrow, deep inside her woman’s heart she 
wasn’t ready to let go of Logan. She gave her father a kiss on 
the forehead and left him to his work. 
“In here, Michaela.” Her mother’s voice reached her from 
the parlor, and Mica shook off her own misgivings about 
delving into her aunt’s past. 
“As I told you the last time you popped in, most of our 
family’s historical documents have been given to the Society. 
When we sorted through things, Aunt Theo must have set aside 
these personal letters.” Her mother handed Mica a small bundle 
of letters, the yellowed envelopes addressed in a flowing script. 
“I tried to read them, but they don’t make much sense.” 
Mica carefully removed the ribbon tying the bundle 
together, lifting the first to examine the words. As she glanced 
down at the stack, she noted the envelopes were addressed to 

Theodora Josephine Ashley, but there were no street addresses 
or stamps on any of them. “Who are they from?” 
“Someone named Maggie. She must have been a friend.” 
Mica’s gaze snapped to her mother then back to the first 
letter that she now held in shaking hands. Maggie—Margaret. 
Could there be a connection? 
The first letter made reference to Theo’s ride in an airplane. 
It seemed Maggie found that incredible, since she had been 
frightened to death when George (her husband?) raced his 
trotters with her in the curricle. 
Those words didn’t seem at all odd to Mica considering 
her aunt’s age and the fact that many older families in the area 
still maintained a stable, even if they also had automobiles and 
traveled in jets. 
Mica read through more letters, but none mentioned 
anything she could connect with Sea Crest and Indigo Bay. 
She also noted none of them contained the year in which they 
were written. The writer began with the month and day, giving 
no indication when, in her aunt’s eighty-nine years of life, these 
letters were written. 
She silently read on. Thomas continues to study very hard, 
but, oh dear, how that boy misses his father. He doesn’t return 
home as often now that Elizabeth has remarried, for he doesn’t 
deal well with his stepfather, Charles. 
The parchment fluttered from Mica’s nerveless hands onto 
her lap. Her vision blurred until the script ran together, and she 
couldn’t see any of the words except the first—Thomas. Could 
it be? 
Had her aunt somehow discovered Sea Crest’s secret and 
gone back in time to make the acquaintance of Logan’s aunt? 
How did they manage a correspondence through time? Why 
had her aunt never told her anything about this? And how could 
she jump to such incredible conclusions based on the 
appearance of a name that had, no doubt, been very popular 
throughout history? 
Luckily, her mother had begun her embroidery and paid 
little attention to Mica. She placed a hand to her chest in hopes 
of stilling the heart palpitations that thundered clear up to her 

ears. She swallowed several times and blinked her eyes against 
the pictures her mind conjured up. 
Instead of blocking out the images, Logan’s face came to 
view, his dark hair gleaming and a frown bringing his brows 
together. She could almost hear him say something like—Leave 
things be, Michaela Marie. Don’t question fate. Just enjoy 
each day to the fullest. 
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to figure out which 
century—” 
“What did you say, dear?” Mica’s mother looked up from 
her sewing. 
“What? Oh, nothing. Just something I read.” Mica hadn’t 
realized she had spoken aloud. She took a breath and willed 
her hands to quit shaking as she pulled the last letter from the 
envelope. The writing was the same, but the message proved 
incriminating. 
Dearest Theo, 
Poor Thomas. I fear there will be nothing left of his legacy, 
for Neil and his father are bent on destroying Indigo Bay. If 
only my poor brother-in-law were still alive. While I love dear 
Elizabeth, she just is not strong enough... 
The script faded to nothing, water stains blurring the rest 
of the message, but it had been enough to make Mica’s hand 
tremble once again. She very gently folded the letter and 
returned it to its envelope, half afraid it would disintegrate 
before her eyes. 
So there was a connection between her aunt and Indigo 
Bay. Did she dare return to Logan and tell him that his aunt 
had written to her aunt, and the letters indicated Neil spelled 
trouble? What if he questioned her about her aunt? How could 
she ever begin to explain that the two ladies had somehow 
carried on a correspondence even though far more than one 
hundred years separated their lives? 
Mica hung her head, rubbing her forehead with her fingers. 
Logan’s aunt could have written the letters, but in actuality, 
they didn’t prove a thing. They didn’t point to any facts that 
weren’t already clear. The only supposition Mica could make 
was that her aunt might have known about the door at Sea 

Crest and had tried to tell her about Logan, whom her aunt had 
called Thomas, so that she could help him in some way. 
At the moment, she couldn’t begin to imagine how she 
could be of help in an era where women were not acknowledged 
as having the ability to do much of anything. The most she 
could accomplish by going back would be to warn Logan of 
Neil’s plans to destroy Indigo Bay. And that wasn’t even very 
clear since everything alluded to in Maggie’s letters had already 
happened in Logan’s life. 
By returning, she would open herself, and Logan, to more 
hurt. It had been hard enough to leave when she had. Given the 
circumstances and progression of their relationship, she could 
only imagine it would be twice as hard the next time. 
Was it fair to Logan to return when she knew she couldn’t 
stay? Oh, God, she thought her life had been complicated 
before. The whole idea of going to Sea Crest had been to resolve 
her conflicts, not create more. 
“Michaela, dear, it’s getting late. You’ll stay in your old 
room, won’t you?” Her mother’s question gave Mica something 
else to focus on. 
“I really should return to the apartment. I left clothes in 
the washer. Besides, I’ll probably return to Indigo—Sea Crest— 
early tomorrow.” She let out a sigh. “Mother, was there anything 
else, any other correspondence?” Mica didn’t know what she 
wanted to find, but her mind refused to relinquish its quest. 
“What are you looking for, dear? Didn’t those letters 
contain any useful information about whatever it is you’re trying 
to learn?” 
“No.” Mica refused to disclose even the slightest tidbit of 
the strange coincidences. Her mother would have her committed 
to the nearest padded room. 
“I’m afraid I don’t have anything older than those letters,” 
her mother said “During the War Between the States, many 
family records were either destroyed or hidden and never 
recovered. I remember when we worked at the Society more 
than one woman commented on the tragic loss of family history. 
And, too, so much of our past was lost during the fire.” 
“What fire?” Mica asked, her heart beginning to pound 

again. 
“Oh, heavens, dear, I don’t recall the date. Long before my 
time. Probably even before Aunt Theo’s time. I do recall, 
though, something about lost stock certificates. I’m not sure 
what happened, but Aunt Theo did say once if the stock had 
remained in the family, there would have been no need to sell 
off most of the Sea Crest land after the war.” 
Mica filed that information for future reference since she 
had no idea whether stock certificates played a part in this 
game or not. She gathered her aunt’s letters, replacing the faded 
ribbon to hold them together. Then she rose from the chair and 
flexed her shoulders to relieve her tension. So much to think 
about. 
“I need to go, Mother. Thank you for the scrumptious meal.” 
She bent to kiss her mother’s cheek, anxious now to leave and 
mull over all she had learned. 
“Oh, by the way, Lucy has your clothes mended. You really 
should be more careful. She said she had to completely replace 
your zipper.” 
“Yes, ma’am.” Mica waved as she exited the parlor. 
Grabbing her clothes by the front door where Lucy had left 
them, she headed back to her apartment. As she drove, she 
plucked at the new buttons Lucy had put on her pajamas. 
Now she understood what happened when she went through 
the door, and she wondered if there weren’t certain rules that 
had to be followed. She recalled the flower that had turned to 
dust when she returned from Indigo Bay. How could she play 
by the rules when she didn’t know what they were? 
That night, even though she stayed at her apartment, she 
dreamed of Logan, waking herself when she cried his name 
out loud. She pawed through the medicine cabinet for the 
sleeping pills she had depended on after her divorce. As the 
capsules tumbled from the bottle into her hand, she hesitated. 
She hadn’t taken the pills to Sea Crest with her and hadn’t 
needed them. Why start up an old habit? 
Because the answer to her question was the source of her 
current sleeplessness—Thomas Logan Rutledge. She hated that 
he had made her feel again, much deeper than she wanted to 

admit. Besides that, he had unknowingly teased her with a life 
and freedom she couldn’t have in her own time. 
But she didn’t want to dream about him. She didn’t want 
to recall his sensuous lips on hers, or his gentle voice and caring 
nature. She didn’t want to remember, and yet his allure remained 
so strong, she felt the tug on her heart even though centuries 
separated them. 
She contemplated her aunt’s dying words and the most 
recent discovery of her letters. Before she had to return to work, 
she still had time to return to Sea Crest and try to help Logan 
in some as yet unfathomable way. 
She couldn’t deny the whole situation intrigued her. Was 
her aunt talking about Logan when she had mentioned a man 
named Thomas? Why hadn’t Aunt Theo told anyone about the 
door or her correspondence with Maggie? Who started the fire 
at Indigo Bay? The questions piled up, intensifying the sense 
of mystery surrounding Sea Crest. 
Mica packed her bag for the trip back up the coast to 
Cameron Island. She shook her head ruefully, knowing that by 
returning to the bed & breakfast, she might lose her heart. Yet 
the memory of Logan sent her senses into a tailspin. 
*** 
Mica hadn’t tried to pass through the door during the day. 
She no sooner slipped the key into the lock than a horrendous 
alarm sounded from somewhere behind her. She jerked the door 
shut and whirled around, her heart erratic and her skin instantly 
damp with nervous perspiration. 
She passed a shaking hand over blurry eyes as she tried to 
focus. Even when she recognized the intruder as Professor 
Bigley, jittery sensations still rippled along her spine. 
He stood by the door to his room, his ghost machine 
clutched to his chest and his eyes wide with disbelief. As his 
gaze came to rest on her face, his mouth turned down in a 
frown, and his bushy gray eyebrows lowered to show his 
disappointment. 
But his infernal contraption kept ringing in her ears. 
“Professor, can you shut that thing off?” Mica yelled to be 
heard over the racket. 

His hand dropped to the box, and within seconds, silence 
again shrouded the halls. “I don’t understand...” The confused 
professor concentrated on his device. He flipped a switch as 
he walked over to Mica, and the alarm instantly filled the air 
with squawking. 
Before Mica could open her mouth, he adjusted the volume 
to a high-pitched beeping. Though tolerable, it still grated on 
her nerves. 
“Professor Bigley, you scared the wits out of me! I suggest 
if your machine isn’t working, you keep it turned off so you 
don’t disturb the other guests.” 
“But Miss Chadwick, it is working. In fact, for several 
days I picked up random signals from the north end of the 
house, but I have been unable to locate the exact source. Two 
days ago, the signals quit. Now they’ve started again and appear 
to be very strong right around you.” He eyed her suspiciously. 
Two days. She’d returned to Sea Crest two days ago before 
leaving for Charleston. Now she was back, and the professor’s 
signals were back. And he was inspecting her as though he 
thought she was a— 
“Professor Bigley, I am not a ghost.” She laughed outright 
even as the hair on the back of her neck prickled. She slowly 
stepped away from the door to move down the hallway. The 
professor followed, and as he did, the intensity of the alarm 
faded. When they reached the top of the stairs, it quit altogether. 
The professor’s face scrunched into a frown again. His 
fingers adjusted knobs as his gaze darted from the machine 
back to her. “How odd. I thought I finally found…” He stopped 
mid-sentence and looked up at her again. “I am sorry. Of course, 
you’re not a ghost. It’s just the last week has given me such 
hope of a discovery.” 
While his words were apologetic, Mica sensed he still 
considered her a spectral suspect. She started down the stairs, 
knowing she could never attempt to enter the door now. “If 
you would like my birth certificate—” 
“No, no.” He laughed good-naturedly. “I’ll just have to 
keep trying, that’s all.” He turned towards his room, and Mica 
had a sinking sensation in her stomach. 

“Professor?” When he stopped and turned back to her, she 
continued. “Is there a way to attach a bell to your machine, 
instead of that awful alarm?” She could tell he was already 
lost in thought, for he murmured something incoherent as he 
shuffled towards his room. 
Mica’s stomachache continued as she walked down the 
stairs to the main floor. What if the professor’s machine really 
worked? What if he had been picking up vibrations of life from 
Logan’s side of the door? Now he had apparently picked up 
phenomenon from her because she had been there. 
She would have to be more careful the next time she 
attempted to cross the threshold into the past. Under no 
circumstances did she want the professor or anyone else to 
find out what lay beyond the door that supposedly didn’t open. 
Mica ran into Mr. Barker at the bottom of the stairs. He 
turned guiltily at her approach, his pudgy hands hidden behind 
his back. Papers were strewn across the reception desk. Mica 
knew Anna wouldn’t leave such a mess, and she began to 
suspect Mr. Barker of mischief. 
“Uh, well, Miss Chadwick, you’re back.” He made it sound 
as though she shouldn’t have been there, and Mica wondered 
what he was trying to hide from her. 
“Of course, I’m here, Mr. Barker. I live here.” He backed 
away from the desk. Mica raised a brow, glad to be in the 
offensive position instead of being the guilty party as she had 
with the professor. “May I ask what you’re doing here?” 
“I...uh,” the man sputtered, glancing anywhere but at her. 
Mica’s investigative nature kicked into fast-forward. She 
stepped quickly around him before he had a chance to back 
further away. His hands clutched a leather bound book, but 
Mica couldn’t see the title before he swiveled to face her again. 
“What do you have, Mr. Barker?” she asked, suspicious 
of the rotund little man who thought to find buried treasure. 
“There is no call for concern. The journal belongs to us.” 
He clutched the book to his chest. “And you have given us 
permission to search.” His pathetic look almost made her feel 
guilty. Almost. 
“The permission didn’t mean you could intrude on other 

people’s privacy or property, Mr. Barker.” Mica cast a pointed 
glance towards the reception desk. 
To defuse the situation and shed some light on the mystery 
that seemed to surround Sea Crest, Mica flashed her friendliest 
smile. “Perhaps if you allowed me a glimpse of the journal, I 
could help you. After all, I’ve been associated with Sea Crest 
much longer than you.” 
Mr. Barker handed over the journal without a qualm, his 
round face glowing with enthusiasm for her support. “Why, 
that would be very thoughtful of you. Not many people would 
be so kind toward helping another find a treasure.” 
Mica had serious doubts about any treasure, but she did 
question why the Barkers thought there might be some here on 
the island. She surveyed the book as quickly as possible, 
because she knew if Mrs. Barker happened by, both of them 
would be in trouble. 
The entries were not dated, nor could she find the author’s 
name inscribed on the front or back cover. The script proved 
almost impossible to read, written in black ink with little regard 
for legibility. 
She squinted as she read out loud. “...I shall rename the 
isle after myself, instead of some damned crop, which will 
yield him no money after I have my way.” 
Apparently whoever had compiled the journal felt a 
tremendous anger, for the sentences Mica could make out were 
forceful and the language abusive. She continued to read 
silently. 
The bastard refuses to acknowledge what is rightfully 
mine. Not only does he have the land, but now the gold as 
well. I shall endeavor to return when ghosts haunt the land 
and a raging inferno consumes all he holds dear. Then I shall 
have my revenge! 
More ghosts! Mica thrust the book back into Mr. Barker’s 
hands. She rubbed sweaty palms up and down her jeans, trying 
to brush away the negative vibrations she sensed while holding 
the book. 
She took a deep breath and called on her years of training 
to state the facts. “There are no names in the book. Nowhere 

does it remotely mention Sea Crest. Although gold is mentioned, 
what makes you think the journal is about this island?” 
Mr. Barker gave her a smug smile. “You obviously have 
not studied it as we have. There are references to the Cameron 
Islands, and indigo, a crop grown in this specific area before 
the Civil War. The journal tells a story of family strife, also 
common during that period when one brother had what another 
coveted.” 
“How weird,” Mica mused. “ May I see that again?” It 
sounds just like Logan and his stepbrother, she thought. She 
held out her hand, only to have the book snatched away by red-
tipped talons. 
“Certainly not!” Nadine Barker grabbed the book, her 
lacquered nails beating an angry staccato on the leather cover 
as she clutched it to her chest. 
Her husband visibly melted under the heat of her glare. 
His face reddened as his shoulders slumped. Mica might feel 
sorry for him, but she wasn’t about to wither beneath the 
woman’s haughty manner. 
“I was telling your husband that perhaps I could be of 
assistance since I’ve known Sea Crest all my life.” Her smile 
froze the instant the other woman spoke. 
“I’m sure you would be more than willing to help my 
husband, Miss Chadwick.” The snide undertone in her words 
could not be mistaken. 
Mica bristled. “Surely you don’t think—“ 
“I think you’d better leave my husband, and this journal, 
alone. What’s mine is mine.” The woman stepped between Mica 
and her husband, and if Mica hadn’t been so angry, she would 
have laughed outright. 
“I have the same rules, so please confine your search to 
public areas only.” Mica’s gaze swept the reception desk before 
she looked the taller woman straight in the eye. “Just so we 
understand each other.” 
A winner in any confrontation got in the last word and left 
first, so Mica sailed from the room, back straight and head 
high. 
*** 

Much later that night, she still chuckled when she thought 
about Mrs. Barker’s preposterous claim that she might have 
amorous intentions towards Mr. Barker. If the woman only 
knew where Mica’s intentions lay, she would have heart 
palpitations of her own! 
She closed the overnight bag she had packed and grabbed 
the key from her dresser. Locking her own door behind her, 
she crept through the house barefooted, confident all the guests 
were asleep. Having no idea whether Logan had returned yet 
from business, she could only hope she would beat him back 
to Indigo Bay. Trying to explain where she had been would not 
be easy. It became more and more difficult to disguise the truth. 
The instant she crossed over and tossed her bag onto the 
bed, she felt as though she had come home from a very long 
trip. Home—she smiled at the idea. 
She saw lights glowing from below and followed them 
down to the kitchen where she found Mattie just finishing the 
dishes. She had a cup of tea with the housekeeper and visited 
like old friends—another nice feeling. Even though Mattie 
didn’t question her whereabouts over the past couple of days, 
Mica mentioned having returned to Sea Crest on estate business 
since Logan was gone. 
“Master Logan is expected later in the evening,” Mattie 
said as they cleared away their teacups. 
“Then I may wait up for him,” Mica replied. “Good night, 
Mattie.” 
As Mica climbed the stairs, she contemplated her strategy. 
It wouldn’t do any good to postpone telling Logan about Neil. 
After all, that was the reason for her return. Mica kept telling 
herself that, even as she donned her most becoming dress and 
brushed her hair until it shone. 
She glanced longingly at the big poster bed and decided 
she’d better not wait for him in her bedroom. She wandered 
into the music room, recalling the time she had come upon 
Logan as he played the piano. Even then, he had captured her 
heart with his soulful music and his magnetic smile. Her fingers 
caressed the keys. It had been ages since she had played, though 
music had been her passion when younger. 

*** 
Logan watched Michaela from the doorway. His brow 
smoothed, and his tense muscles relaxed as the music swept 
away the business worries he had confronted in Charleston 
over the past several days. He sighed deeply, aware it wasn’t 
the music at all that made him feel this way, but her presence. 
He didn’t question how or why she had appeared in his 
life. He only rejoiced in the fact that she had. She was so 
beautiful, her graceful hands caressing the ivory keys with 
tenderness. Yet he remembered how those same hands had 
touched him with urgent passion during their last night together. 
God, how he had missed her! 
She must have sensed his presence, for her fingers never 
faltered as he laid his hands on her shoulders, bending down to 
kiss the nape of her neck. Possessed by an urgent physical 
need to carry her off to his bed and love her passionately, he 
forced himself to be content savoring the smooth, fresh taste 
of her skin. 
From the time his mother had died, he had withdrawn into 
himself, trying not to need others. He cared for his people and 
the land, the only thing he could call his own, but he took pains 
to keep his own needs deeply buried. Since Michaela had come 
into his life, however, he found his needs taking precedence 
over his other responsibilities. 
He wanted to claim her for his own. She had an inner 
strength that would allow her to stand beside him instead of 
depending on him as did so many others. That didn’t insult his 
sense of manhood, for his soul searched for a mate to 
compliment his own passion and strengths. 
At present, however, he felt shy and unsure how to proceed 
with their relationship. He sat down beside her on the bench, 
speaking to her as she played. “I don’t recognize that melody. 
Is it Chopin or Beethoven?” 
“No—Kenny G.” 
“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with his work.” 
“He’s contemporary.” Michaela gifted him with a smile. 
“Welcome home, Logan.” 
Her words melted his heart. He wrapped an arm around 

her. Replacing her fingers with his on the keyboard, he began 
the melody he had heard her play. 
She turned startled blue eyes to him, her breath a sweet 
whisper against his cheek. “How can you do that?” 
He shrugged, bringing his arms closer together, which 
shifted Michaela closer to his chest. He kept his hands on the 
keyboard even though he would have rather caressed her. 
“It’s a gift, I’m afraid. My mother insisted on lessons, but 
I hated them. I found, though, if I played without fault for my 
instructor, I could be done that much faster and be allowed to 
ride my pony. So I concentrated very hard, or thought I did, but 
apparently it didn’t take much effort on my part.” 
“You are truly gifted. Did your instructor push you to play 
professionally?” 
“Oh, yes, as did Mother. But my professor was... 
effeminate, you might say.” Logan glanced down at her and 
batted his eyelashes. Her responding laughter created a melody 
of its own in his mind. 
“Even at eleven years of age, I wanted to be considered a 
man, not a child. I became deathly afraid if I continued to play, 
I would turn into another Mr. Weathersby. So I quit. I faked 
sprains to my wrists and fingers, colds and coughs, until Mother 
finally decided it wasn’t worth paying a music instructor and a 
resident doctor.” 
A murmur of agreement was all he heard from Michaela, 
but she snuggled closer to his chest. He forced his fingers to 
remain on the keys, changing the melody to one as happy and 
carefree as he felt at the moment. 
“Entertaining people is all well and good,” he continued, 
“but only the rich can afford to attend a concert or the opera. I 
needed to feel more useful than that. I needed to make a 
contribution.” 
“I feel the same way.” 
Her remark gave him one more reason to love her. He 
responded musically as his fingers caressed and cajoled to bring 
forth a melody with softness like the wistful beauty in his arms 
before blending the sounds into a strong and commanding 
finish. 

He tried to tell her how he felt with the music he played, 
his heart pounding in time with the beat. When she swayed in 
rhythm against him, he forgot the music and let his body tell 
her what he needed. He turned her in his arms, his lips crushing 
hers in a kiss of hunger and need—caring and passion. 
She answered his request by opening her mouth, her tongue 
dancing with his to a melody that throbbed through his very 
blood, reaching in to capture his soul. 
Unlike the first time he had encountered her in the music 
room, tonight Michaela didn’t protest when Logan waltzed her 
to the door then swept her into his arms and carried her to bed. 
He felt he couldn’t get close enough to her. 
All day long he had felt a restlessness, like a storm was 
brewing, but it focused inwardly rather than on the land around 
him. Something untoward was about to happen, and Logan 
had the irrational fear that he might lose Michaela in the process. 

Eight 
Logan didn’t leave her bed that night as he had before. 
Instead, his magical hands continued the rapture he had started 
in the music room, carrying her time and again to a majestic 
crescendo of love. 
But now, as dawn nudged aside the night, Mica 
unexpectedly shivered. She curled closer to Logan’s warmth, 
her bare back snug against his hard chest. She had done it 
royally this time—tumbled headlong into a situation from which 
she could see no way out. 
She turned to study Logan’s profile, softened in sleep. How 
had she thought to turn her feelings for him on and off like a 
switch? She could never stop caring for this passionate man. A 
smile curved her lips. Passionate didn’t begin to describe the 
exotic pleasures he had showered on her last night. 
She had thought to come back and help him without 
becoming more entangled, but now she knew she had lied to 
herself. She hadn’t come back for Logan’s sake, but for her 
own. With every waking breath, her need for him grew. And 
yet it proved an impossible situation. 
He sighed and reached for her in his sleep, his warm hand 
gentle on her breast. 
“Oh, Logan,” she whispered, “I only wanted to help, and 
now look what I’ve done.” She kissed his brow and savored 
the tender emotions that welled up inside her. In her mind’s 
eye, however, she could already see the inevitable. Before she 
created more trouble for herself, she needed to complete the 
mission she had come here to accomplish. 
“Logan?” She caressed his bare shoulder. “Logan?” 
He turned slightly. “Michaela.” He mumbled her name, 

his breath warm on her skin, and Mica’s heart twisted. 
“Did your Aunt Margaret and her husband live here at 
Indigo Bay?” 
“For a while.” His answer came out muffled, for he had 
snuggled closer and his hot lips nibbled incredibly erotic 
patterns on the side of her breast. 
Determined to keep her mind on the task at hand, she took 
a breath, but that only pressed her closer to his lips. “Did she 
know your brother? Do you think she realized how much Neil 
wanted your plantation?” 
Instead of answering, he nuzzled her, then his tongue traced 
sizzling circles around her nipple. 
“Oh-h-h,” she moaned, then groaned when he withdrew 
his mouth. 
Seconds later, his lips moved down her belly, planting 
butterfly-light kisses against her sensitive skin. Mica had 
forgotten what she had asked by the time he answered her. 
“Neil is headstrong, but he’ll come around. Why all the 
questions?” He pursued an unerring path back up her stomach, 
nipping her skin then licking with his hot tongue. His 
movements remained unhurried, his voice sleepy, but Mica 
knew he realized exactly what his tender forays were doing to 
her. 
She squirmed beneath his assault, determined to finish 
before her body betrayed her and succumbed to his expert 
lovemaking. “Just...just one more...question.” She squeezed 
her knees together in a weak attempt to stop his hand that slid 
from her knee closer to the aching core of her body. 
She tried to recall the Barkers’ journal entry in order to 
make some connection with Logan and Indigo Bay. “Gold. Is 
there reason for someone to believe gold is buried on the 
island?” 
“Ah-ha!” His head came up so quickly Mica’s heart skipped 
a beat. He rocked back on his heels beside her, planting his 
hands on his hips. His actions drew her gaze to his hips, and 
sent heat spiraling through her fast enough to set the bed on 
fire. While passion throbbed through her veins, he now seemed 
completely unaware of his effect on her. 

“Here I thought my other fine qualities were what drew 
you, and all this time you’re a fortune hunter.” He attempted a 
frown as he spoke, but his dark eyes twinkled. 
Though he no longer touched her, his gaze seared her body, 
making love to her with eyes turned dark with desire. He licked 
his lips as his gaze lingered on her breasts before sliding down 
her body to the juncture of her legs leading to her feminine 
core. 
Mica watched his hands clench and relax on his thighs, 
and she marveled at his control. Why didn’t he touch her? She 
tried to capture his gaze—to beg him with her eyes for what 
her body craved, but he kept his gaze averted as he spoke. 
His voice, husky with need, aroused her even more. “My 
father told me pirates never ventured to islands this close to 
the mainland. Even so, when I was a boy I looked for buried 
treasure. Now I realize how foolish that was.” 
Her voice quivered in response. “Why would a boy’s dream 
be foolish?” 
“Because I realize my treasure awaited me as an adult.” 
His gaze drifted up her body to capture hers. Finally, he reached 
out, his callused fingers sliding up her oversensitive skin. 
Instead of releasing her tension, his touch only increased the 
sweet agony her body experienced. 
“No amount of gold or jewels can equal what I have right 
in front of me. There is nothing on this Earth of greater value 
to me than what we share.” He entwined his fingers with hers 
to pull her into his embrace. “Now, come here. Nothing else 
matters except you and me.” 
Mica shut her mind to everything except his hot touch on 
her skin. As his hands tenderly cradled her body, she relished 
the feeling of being cherished. But being cherished didn’t mean 
he thought her fragile, and their lovemaking swiftly escalated 
into a ferocious tumble. He captured her lips in a torturous 
kiss, appeasing some of her need, yet leaving her hungry for 
more. 
Her nails scratched across his muscle-ridged back as she 
rubbed her breasts against his chest. Her nipples were tight 
and puckered, aching for his touch. As though he read her 

thoughts, he released her mouth as he laid her back on the bed, 
but before she could complain, he lightly nipped the tip of one 
breast before capturing it fully in his hot, wet mouth. 
Mica cried his name out loud, enthralled with the sight 
and musky male scent of him, enraptured by his taste as she 
nibbled on his shoulder. His hot male length against her hip 
inflamed her senses, and she opened her legs in welcome. 
Skyrockets roared in her ears, and fireworks flashed behind 
her closed eyes as he entered her with one tumultuous plunge. 
“More. Give me all of you.” He rasped the urgent command 
even as he lifted her hips to drive deeper, plundering her very 
soul. Relinquishing her entire being to his safekeeping, she 
wrapped her legs around him, raising her hips to meet his. 
“Yes!” The word ripped from him as he thrust deeper, then 
stopped, their bodies fused intimately together. She felt him 
swell and throb within her, and for the first time in her life she 
knew what completeness meant. 
Logan didn’t give her time to analyze her thoughts. The 
tempo his body set soon caused sweet ecstasy to spread through 
her like wildfire. She tightened her legs, drawing him inward, 
arching to meet his thrusts, willing him to take her with him 
over the precipice. 
“Look at me!” The words hammered through her with each 
thrust of his hips. His face spoke of his passion. His chiseled 
features were covered with a fine sheen of perspiration, his 
black hair in disarray. 
His eyes, darkened almost to black, captured her attention. 
In them she saw the reflection of her deepest thoughts. I love 
you, Thomas Logan Rutledge. 
“Heaven help me,” she moaned as he sank deep within her 
then stopped. The throb of his release triggered hers, sending 
them both spiraling through a vortex of electrifying sensation. 
*** 
Though reluctant, Logan left Mica’s room, promising to 
return for her later in the day. He insisted she stay in bed and 
rest while he saw to the final preparations for the first shipment 
of indigo to market. 
“The auction will be held in Charleston, and we must have 

the crop ready. With the first of September so near, I can’t 
leave anything to chance.” He kissed her cheek and hurried 
off, unaware of the turmoil his words had caused. 
September! She promised her father she’d go back to work 
after Labor Day. How could she possibly return to work when 
things were still so unsettled here, and especially since her 
heart-wrenching discovery while making love to Logan? She 
was in love with him! 
Determined to push aside her emotions in the interest of 
helping Logan, Mica pulled on a wrapper and grabbed her bag 
from the armoire. She really wished she had more than just a 
few letters with which to convince him his stepbrother meant 
trouble. 
As she pawed through her belongings, setting aside the 
bundle of letters, she began to doubt what had been on her 
mind at the time she packed. Her peasant-type cotton skirts 
and blouses where there, as were her silk teddy and slip, but 
where were her hairbrush, her bras and stockings? All that 
remained of her sandals was a handful of leather straps, and 
she couldn’t find any of her cosmetics. She plopped down on 
the bed and stared at the strange assortment of items. 
Rules—everything in life had rules, even if they weren’t 
always understood or followed. Mica remembered Uncle Gene 
telling her that once. Apparently even time travel had rules, 
and Mica could only guess at them as she surveyed the remains 
of her belongings. She plucked at the ribbon tying together her 
aunt’s letters. If there were one more mystery tied to this 
adventure she had created, she would go mad. 
“Miss Michaela?” Mattie stuck her head through the 
doorway, drawing Mica’s attention away from her musings. 
“Good morning, Mattie. What can I do for you?” 
“I was just wondering, Miss, if you would care to go to 
town with me and the Mister. It’s time to restock the pantry, 
and the fish is always best if you get there early.” 
“I would love to come with you. Just give me a few minutes 
to dress.” A change of scenery might be just what she needed 
to get her thoughts in perspective. 
The morning flew by as Simon and Mattie pointed out 

various sites while they traveled by buggy through the small 
town of Cameron. Mica was amazed at what had survived 
through the years. Not only the Belleview Hotel, but two 
churches and the market area remained very close to the 
structures of her own era. 
On the pretense of seeing if her clothes had arrived at the 
hotel, Mica separated from the Browns when she saw a 
boutique. At first she hesitated. She didn’t have any money, 
but she decided to take a chance that some things never changed. 
“Charge it?” She questioned the clerk once she had picked 
out a few dresses and a small valise. 
“Of course. To whom shall we send the bill?” 
Mica exited the shop quite pleased with herself. When she 
spied the Browns, she informed Simon her bag had arrived. 
After eating a light lunch, they stopped by the hotel before 
they returned to the plantation. 
Logan had left her a note indicating he would be tied up 
the rest of the day at the processing sheds. Mica thought about 
walking out to see him, but concluded if he were busy, now 
was not the time to interrupt him. She could wait until dinner. 
As she prepared for her bath, she toyed with the ribbon on 
the letters lying on her desk. How could she broach the subject 
of the information they contained? How could she express her 
concern for Logan without letting him know exactly where 
she had gotten the information? 
Should she even bring up any relationship between their 
aunts? After all, she had already decided that in itself didn’t 
spell danger for him. 
The journal had her stymied, though. The Barkers felt 
certain whoever wrote it had connections with this island. Mica 
had begun to think it was a hoax. After all, no names were 
mentioned, and she felt certain many other plantations grew 
indigo. However, there was just enough information in what 
she had read and what Mr. Barker had said to give her pause. 
On the positive side, however, Logan was not a wealthy 
man. If he had any gold, she felt certain he would use it to help 
his people, not hoard it in some hiding place. 
She just couldn’t conceive of any way to help him. Perhaps 

she just needed to be here for him, to provide some kind of 
emotional support during his transition as rightful owner of 
Indigo Bay. She sighed. If Aunt Theo had only realized what 
sort of predicament Mica would embroil herself in, she probably 
would never have bequeathed her Sea Crest. 
She dressed with care in the new emerald-green silk she’d 
purchased in town, brushing her hair into a French twist. She 
glanced in the mirror, pleased with her reflection. She felt rather 
wanton. Even when attending a country club gathering, she 
had never worn dresses this elegant. 
Perhaps it was that she’d never wanted to appear seductive 
before. As she stared at her image in the mirror, she saw that 
her cheeks glowed, and her eyes twinkled. Already her pulse 
was accelerating knowing that Logan waited for her downstairs. 
Determined not to think beyond this night, she slid into 
matching slippers, leaving the room and all thoughts of the 
future behind. 
*** 
Mica watched Logan’s eyes widen when she entered the 
dining room. Her hands trembled when he offered her a glass 
of wine. His magnetic smile told her he appreciated her attire, 
yet his eyes gave no clue to his thoughts. 
“You look magnificent.” His whisper feathered her ear as 
he kissed her throat where her pulse beat a rapid cadence. He 
trailed a finger from her shoulder down the scooped neck of 
her dress, his touch causing her to shiver. “In fact, you look 
quite good enough to eat.” His eyes smoldered, and his touch 
was hot and electrifying. 
In that moment Mica realized that she wanted something 
more from Logan. While sex must surely be part of the appeal 
in any relationship, she couldn’t bear it if all they had was a 
physical attraction. After all, he hadn’t repeated his earlier 
marriage proposal, and although Mica might not want to answer 
such a serious question, she did need reassurance that their 
relationship existed beyond the bedroom. 
“Do you find me sexy, Logan? Is that all we have?” 
Silverware clattered to china, and she heard Simon’s discreet 
cough behind her. She clapped a hand to her mouth, 

embarrassment flushing her cheeks with warmth as she dropped 
her gaze to the floor. 
“There are several meanings for the word sexy, but in your 
case, it must have to do with a woman who’s outspoken in the 
extreme.” Logan chuckled, his voice the gentle tease she had 
come to love. 
When she raised her eyes, she found his gaze lingering on 
her chest where the cut of her gown revealed plenty of breast. 
Without taking his gaze from her, he gave Simon orders in a 
shaky voice. 
“Simon, I believe that will be all.” He sucked in a ragged 
breath as he removed the wine glass from her hand and gave it 
to the butler. Mica gave Logan her most seductive smile. “Yes, 
I’m sure that will be all—for the rest of the evening, in fact.” 
Once Mica heard the doors close behind the servant, she 
allowed herself to breathe again. Would she forever put her 
foot in her mouth, voicing things better left unsaid? She opened 
her mouth to apologize, but Logan put a finger to her lips to 
silence her. 
He stood close, and she could hear his harsh breathing in 
the quiet of the large room. Her gaze remained locked with 
his, even when his finger left her lips to trace a fiery path down 
her chin and across her throat to her bare shoulder. She trembled 
beneath his touch, the heat from a single finger burning her 
skin while sending rapid signals skittering along her nerve 
endings to her heart. 
“Sexy, hum?” Just the sound of the word, enunciated in 
his slow, husky drawl, caused erotic images of their lovemaking 
to flash before her eyes. “By being sexy, do you mean a 
woman’s allure?” His finger continued its forays, pausing along 
its path to dip beneath the silk and brush the tip of her breast. 
Her body reacted instantly, her nipple tightening and jutting 
against the constraints of the fabric. A now familiar ache 
collected at the very center of her being. She answered with a 
moan low in her throat. 
“Michaela Marie?” 
She had to struggle to remember the question. “Yes, I guess 
that’s what I mean.” She shrugged just as his finger slid beneath 

the shoulder of her dress, her action causing the material to 
slide down her arm. He kissed the exposed skin. 
“Ah, then I would have to say allure is a female’s scent.” 
He brushed his nose against her as he sniffed. “She must smell 
of fresh air and sunshine, and taste of lemon.” His tongue licked 
her shoulder before his hot breath dried it. 
“What about her...figure?” Her voice, quaking as though 
his answer meant life and death, broke the spell. 
Logan laughed as he caught her around the waist and 
twirled her in a circle. “Michaela Marie, every woman has 
breasts. You surely cannot think that would be more important 
to me than other things?” His eyes twinkled, and Mica ducked 
her head at the foolishness of her question. 
“Well, most men don’t think the way you do. What other 
things?” 
Logan stopped dancing and took a step back as he placed 
his hands on her shoulders, his eyes searching her face. 
“You are serious, aren’t you?” 
At her nod, he stepped away, breaking contact, as if 
touching her interrupted his train of thought. Mica knew his 
touch interrupted hers. He stood, legs braced and hands on 
hips, his expression that of someone ready to impart great 
knowledge. 
“A woman’s allure is much more than surface beauty. For 
example, I have never had much use for beautiful but empty-
headed and giggly females who only know how to plan a party 
and give orders to a staff of servants. I also cannot tolerate 
women who would leave the rearing of their children in the 
hands of nannies, instead of being active in their development.” 
He raised a hand to silence her when she tried to interrupt. 
“On the other hand, I find great appeal in a woman who is 
intelligent and able to hold a conversation on something other 
than the latest fashions. She must be caring and willing to share 
in every aspect of my life. Above all, she must be passionate— 
about the land, about people, and,” he arched his brows as he 
grinned wickedly, “about me.” 
Mica wondered if she measured up to his ideals. Lord knew 
she had searched for someone of his character. Someone who 

looked beyond the surface to the person within and who didn’t 
regard one’s family tree and annual income as the prerequisites 
for a marriage. Before she had a chance to question him further, 
he began to stalk her, his heels echoing on the polished 
hardwood floors. 
He clasped his hands behind his back and lowered his 
brows to a fierce frown as he eyed her up and down. Mica 
stood her ground, hands at her side as he continued to take her 
measure, strolling around her in decreasing circles until he once 
again stood close in front of her. He crossed his arms, tapping 
a finger to his rigid chin. 
“Do I pass inspection?” She tried for a lighthearted tone, 
afraid her defenses would crumble if he found her lacking. 
“Perhaps,” he drawled, the smile that started at his full 
lips reaching his eyes in an instant. “But tell me, Miss 
Chadwick, what you look for in a man.” He postured for her, 
jutting out his chin and puffing up his chest as he placed his 
hands on his hips and turned this way and that. “Must he have 
bulging muscles and pockets full of money?” 
Mica realized in a heartbeat he was the man she had always 
searched for, but could she find the right words? 
“I want compassion and kindness. A commitment to 
principles, and the strength to stand up for them. I want someone 
to care for me as I am, and not try to mold me into something 
I’m not. I need someone who won’t judge me... and find me 
lacking.” 
Logan quit posturing and entwined his fingers in hers to 
draw her close. With her free hand, she brushed an errant curl 
of black hair from his brow then slowly traced his aristocratic 
features. 
Her voice deepened, because only her heart knew what 
she needed. “I need someone of average build, so I’m not 
overpowered. Someone with black hair and dark brown eyes 
that make my heart melt when he looks at me.” 
As her gaze captured Logan’s, his eyes smoldering with 
tightly leashed passion, she whispered, “Above all else, he 
must be able to love me with all the exuberance of youth, but 
with the patience and experience that comes with age.” 

Logan gathered her in his embrace, kissing her with an 
exotic tenderness. She pulled back just enough to whisper 
against his lips. “Make love to me, Logan...only to me. Always 
me.” 
She could hold the future at bay just a little while longer, 
because at that moment she couldn’t live without Logan’s love. 
In fact, she wondered how she had managed to live until now 
without knowing of his existence. She succumbed to his 
drugging kiss because deep down inside her it felt right. Not 
because there was any sane reason for it, and not because life 
or death might depend on it. She accepted his love and returned 
it twofold because...just because. 
Their tongues danced, mating in a ritual that transcended 
all time barriers, and she accepted the fact that their spirits 
belonged together, despite the difference in their times. 
“Marry me. Right now—tonight.” His words were 
punctuated with hard, hot kisses on her neck, and Mica thought 
she would die from the pleasure. Until his words penetrated. 
“Oh, Logan.” Her heart, still fragile with awakening love, 
shattered. 
“Mister Logan! Mister Logan!” She was saved from having 
to answer when a small boy burst into the room with Simon 
close behind. Logan released Mica and turned, almost falling 
as the youngster catapulted against his legs, grabbing hold for 
dear life. 
“I am sorry, sir,” Simon said, standing red-faced at the 
door, apparently distraught for allowing a small child to get 
past him. “I tried to stop him, but he got by me.” 
“It’s all right, Simon,” Logan said as he knelt beside the 
boy. 
Mica could see the child’s shoulders shake as he gasped 
for breath, and large tears streaked down his cheeks. Wide, 
frightened eyes peered starkly white from his small, black face. 
“What is it, Robby?” 
“Fire! There be a fire in the sheds. Paw sent me to fetch 
you.” The boy’s arms waved in wild circles, smearing Logan’s 
white shirt with soot. 
Logan stood and raced to the door. “Simon, sound the 

alarm. We’ll need every available body. Robby, you did well. 
Stay here at the house and take care of Miss Chadwick.” 
Mica wasn’t about to be left behind. “I’m coming with 
you.” She gathered her full skirts and ran out into the hall just 
as Logan reached the front door. He turned, piercing her with a 
gaze so intense it stopped her. 
“Stay in the house, Michaela. You’ll only be in the way, 
and I don’t have time to worry about you.” 
Her mouth dropped open at his comment, but he was gone 
before her numb mind could form a reply. So much for letting 
her stand by his side. Fuming, she turned on her heel and ran 
up the stairs to her room. 
By the time she changed and arrived at the scene, fire had 
consumed the better part of the processing shed. She had dressed 
in a simple skirt and top, minus her petticoats and shoes to 
make it easier to maneuver. She quickly joined the bucket 
brigade, though she doubted their paltry efforts could salvage 
anything. 
As she grabbed bucket after bucket of water, passing it to 
the next in line, hot sparks singed her arms and clothes. She 
didn’t stop or slow her efforts. The men who were closest to 
the blaze used shovels and hoes, even blankets, in an attempt 
to smother the flames. 
Her gaze flew across the open area, frantically searching 
for Logan. Her heart pounded painfully when she finally spotted 
him shouting orders from the very edge of the fire. God, please 
look out for him. He’s too close. She saw his frantic wave 
towards the west side, and realized his intent. 
“Over there,” she yelled over the crackling of the flames. 
Nudging those next to her, she grabbed two buckets and raced 
for the side as yet untouched by the rapidly spreading blaze. 
They had to keep the fire contained to just one building. The 
line soon shifted, and water poured against the remainder of 
the building, preventing the flames from leaping across the 
narrow opening and catching another building on fire. 
Unmindful of the heat, unaware of the regard of those 
around her, Mica hefted gallons of water. Each time she released 
one container, another was thrust into her aching hands. Her 

shoulders bowed, her eyes and throat burned from smoke, but 
she refused to give up or take a break. She lost track of time, 
knowing only that she had to help Logan save what they could. 
“Ouch!” She shook her hand as the rough handle of yet 
another bucket rubbed her raw blisters. She bent and ripped a 
piece from the bottom of her skirt to wrap around her hand, 
then grabbed the bucket to pass it on. 
She saw Logan disappear around the corner of the building. 
Although she worried about his safety, her mind was numbed 
to all thought. Her arms swayed to the rhythm established by 
the constant forward movement of the water buckets. 
She reached back for the next bucket, only to have her 
hand clasped by the person behind her. She lifted tired eyes to 
find kind black ones staring back at her. A white grin flashed 
against a soot-covered face. 
“You did good, Missy.” The older, stooped-shouldered man 
gave her hand a gentle squeeze. 
“Is it out? Are we done?” Without waiting for a response, 
Mica collapsed to the ground. Her tattered skirt swirled around 
her. Her blouse, black with soot and beyond repair, clung 
damply to her sweaty body. She crossed her legs beneath her, 
resting her elbows on her knees as she dropped her head into 
her hands. Her arms felt as though someone had tried to jerk 
them out of the sockets. Never had she felt so drained. 
“Michaela!” She heard Logan shout her name and managed 
to raise her head as he streaked across the yard towards her. He 
was as black as the rest of them, but the minute he dropped to 
his knees in front of her she could see the anger in his eyes. 
“What the hell are you doing out here?” he shouted at her. 
It wasn’t a question, but Mica couldn’t summon the energy 
to argue with him. Instead, she reached out to touch his bare 
shoulder, thankful to see him unhurt. 
“Where’s your shirt?” Somewhere in her hazy brain she 
recalled how handsome he had looked in the pristine shirt, black 
jacket and trousers. Now he knelt before her bare-chested. 
“It caught fire.” He shrugged off her concern, catching her 
hand in his before she had time to hide it beneath her skirts. 
“What’s this?” His fingers plucked at the makeshift 

bandage before his gaze again seared her, his brows pulled 
together in a frown. Before she could defend herself, he pulled 
her to her feet. “Can you walk?” At her nod, he tugged her 
towards the house. 
Mica couldn’t determine whether he was concerned for 
her safety or just plain angry because she had disregarded his 
orders. He didn’t give her a chance to explain, and he didn’t 
speak to her. He just kept a death grip on her wrist, walking 
fast enough that she had to trot to keep up. 
Just as they reached the drive, Logan stopped abruptly, 
and she slammed into his back. He still didn’t look at her, but 
instead gave orders to his foreman. 
“Ezra, post some men to keep watch and find out if anyone 
saw anything. This fire, just like the first one, was deliberately 
set.” 
Mica sucked in her breath at his words. 
“Mister Logan, I knows who done it,” Robby said. 
Mica had seen him running down the drive when his father, 
Ezra, and the others approached. He now pulled on Logan’s 
pant leg to gain his attention. 
“Robby, boy, not now,” Ezra quietly reprimanded his son. 
“But, Paw, you seen ‘em, too.” Robby wouldn’t be put off, 
and Logan finally released Mica to squat down in front of the 
youngster. 
“All right, Robby. Tell me who you saw.” 
“Ghosts.” With a vigorous nod of his head, Robby solemnly 
pronounced the word. 
“Robert Ezra, you listen here. There be no such thing.” 
Ezra caught the child by the shoulder and spun him around. 
Mica touched Robby’s curly head and gave him a weak 
smile to reassure him. But his next words caused her to jerk 
back in dismay. 
“But I seen ‘em! Big white creatures, hauntin’ and floatin’ 
all around, with huge black holes for eyes and fire ‘stead of 
arms.” The small boy gestured wildly, his eyes wide with the 
horror of what he had witnessed. 
Logan watched Michaela race for the house. Why hadn’t 
she stayed there in the first place? He would no doubt find his 

hair gray beneath the soot. She had scared him half to death 
when he looked up to find her fighting his fire. 
Even though she had disobeyed him, he had found it hard 
to maintain his anger in the wake of teary, sky-blue eyes peering 
at him from a soot-streaked face. He sighed, anxious to reach 
the house and confirm she hadn’t been seriously injured. At 
the same time, he wanted information. 
“Ezra?” 
“Some folks says they seen somethin’, but I don’t believe 
in no ghosts, Mister Logan.” His foreman firmly shook his 
head. 
“Then who?” Logan scanned the area, but the dark of night 
obscured all signs. The light from the fire no longer illuminated 
the grisly scene. Why? 
He had no answers, but he knew the people who worked 
for him would do anything to keep Indigo Bay alive. They had 
proven that with their efforts tonight. Too tired and too upset 
over Michaela’s actions to worry about what he couldn’t 
change, Logan shook his head in frustration. 
“Keep an eye out,” Logan ordered. At his foreman’s nod, 
he turned towards the house. 
Once he had washed off some of the soot and donned a 
clean shirt, he searched for Michaela. He found her in the 
downstairs study, pacing between the desk and bookshelves. 
She had washed and changed. Her skirts swirled as she moved, 
and her dainty feet padded soundlessly across the carpet. 
God, if anything had happened to her— 
His heart swelled with pride at the way she had pitched in 
to help, mindless of the danger to herself. Even so, his anger 
rose right along with his love. 
“Look at you. Don’t you realize you could have been hurt 
out there?” He heard the anger in his voice but couldn’t help it. 
Horrid scenes flashed across his mind, all of them ending with 
her hurt in some terrifying way he could not stop. He grabbed 
her hands to still her movements, his eyes tracing the red spots 
dotting her arms where sparks had singed her fair skin. “I told 
you to stay in the house.” 
“I’m perfectly capable of helping.” 

From the icy tone of her voice, he realized she had 
misinterpreted his reasons for saying what he had. He lifted 
her injured hand, turning it over to inspect the blisters. She had 
been hurt fighting his fire and trying to help save his crop. He 
raised her hand to his lips, tenderly kissing the raw flesh. She 
cared so much, had been willing to sacrifice as much as he. 
He watched her stormy gaze as she struggled to control 
her anger at his careless words. His throat constricted, and his 
eyes hazed with unshed tears, for at that moment Logan loved 
her more than life itself. 
He pulled her roughly into his embrace, burying his face 
in her hair. The faint scent of lemons wafted even over the 
stench of smoke. Sweet, just like the woman who brought such 
joy to his life and helped him forget the difficulties. 
“My dear, adorable, Michaela Marie. Never believe I doubt 
your capabilities.” He pushed her to arm’s length, hands on 
her shoulders as he gazed into her sea mist eyes. “Seeing you 
so close to the blaze frightened the hell out of me. Can you 
understand how devastated I would be if anything happened to 
you?” 
His hands shook with the force of overwhelming emotion. 
He watched her eyes cloud with tears. She tucked a strand of 
hair behind her ear, refusing to meet his gaze. He caught her 
hand and kissed the injured palm. 
She pulled away from his embrace, her shaking hands 
shuffling papers needlessly on the desk. Logan realized 
something was amiss, but he couldn’t put his finger on the 
source of her disquiet. 
“Michaela, what is it?” 
“I...I may know who started your fire.” Her words were 
muffled, her head turned away from him. 
“What?” He couldn’t believe what he heard. Surely she 
didn’t have anything to do with this. She had appeared in his 
life just before the first fire, not long after he had come home 
to Indigo Bay. No, he refused to believe she could— 
“I said—” she repeated. 
“I heard what you said,” he shouted. She winced as though 
he had struck her, and guilt lowered his voice. “What do you 

know?” 
She turned then to face him, her cheeks streaked with tears, 
her eyes betraying the same wretchedness he felt. How could 
something so wonderful dissolve right before his eyes? Why 
did his gut twist as though she drove a knife through him? 
Surely whatever she had to say could not kill their love. 
“There’s a journal. I don’t know whom it belongs to,” she 
began. “I haven’t even read it all, but clear reference was made 
to ‘ghosts haunting the land and fire destroying all he holds 
dear.’” 
She looked at him, pleading with her eyes, but for what? 
Logan couldn’t comprehend the meaning of her words. 
“Where is this book? If you don’t know who owns it, how 
do you know the writer means to destroy me?” Her story was 
almost as preposterous as Robby’s ghosts, but something in 
her voice told him she wasn’t weaving a fanciful tale. 
“Would you recognize Neil’s handwriting if you saw it?” 
“Damn it, Michaela, why do you keep bringing him up? 
Leave him out of it. You don’t know anything about Neil, so 
how can you judge him capable of doing something like this?” 
Logan lashed out, knowing his words stung with the force of a 
whip, but he couldn’t retract them. 
He knew Neil was still upset over his father’s will and 
realized the man he had always called Brother harbored ill 
feelings. Regardless of the arguments they had, Logan refused 
to believe Neil capable of burning Indigo Bay to the ground 
just to spite him. 
“I can prove it.” Mica said at his disbelieving look. “I’m 
sorry, but I can.” She turned towards the door, tears obscuring 
her vision as she almost tripped over the leg of a nearby chair. 
God, it hurts so much. She hadn’t known it would be this hard. 
She had only wanted to warn him. She looked back. He 
stood there, hands clenched and shoulders rigid, his eyes telling 
her he refused to believe her. 
Or perhaps he believed that she had something to do with 
the fires. Her heart screamed—No, don’t destroy our love by 
thinking that. 
“I’m so sorry, Logan.” She sobbed, her words echoing 

across the chasm that had opened between them. “I do love 
you.” She didn’t know if her whisper reached him, because 
she turned and fled. 
It had been useless to think she could help. Instead of 
retrieving the journal to show Logan, she would just lock herself 
on her own side and never bother him again. 
“Michaela, wait. I’m sorry.” His voice reached her down 
the length of the hall as she climbed the stairs. 
“Oh, God, why did you make me fall in love with him?” 
Another sob caught in her throat as she raced to the 
extraordinary door that would provide her safety. 
Tears spilled down her cheeks and obscured her vision as 
she tried to fit the key into the lock and remove herself from 
Indigo Bay. She swiped at her eyes with one hand, willing the 
other to quit trembling so she could make her escape. She could 
hear his boots on the stairs, each step pounding louder than her 
heart. 
“Oh, no! Please let me be gone before he gets here.” Mica 
couldn’t bear the thought of having to tell him good-bye. 
Coward though that made her, she knew she couldn’t face him 
and say the words. She turned her head and glanced down the 
hall as the lock gave beneath the flick of her wrist. She could 
see his shadow grow as he topped the stairs. Any second he 
would see her. 
The door swung open, but she couldn’t get the key out of 
the lock. 
“Michaela? What are you doing? Don’t go through there!” 
The panic in Logan’s voice and his heavy footsteps as he sped 
towards her spurred her into action. 
She jerked the key out just as Logan caught her wrist. As 
she lurched through the doorway, her forward motion propelled 
both of them over the threshold. 
“Damn it to hell, woman! This section isn’t...” His voice 
ended in a strangled whisper as she watched him gaze around, 
“...finished.” 
Mica felt the familiar tingle shoot up her arm as Logan 
released her wrist. In the dim light of the hallway he appeared 
almost transparent. 

“Oh, Logan, you can’t be here. It’s just not possible.” Mica 
had deduced some rules about the passage through time, 
because things had a habit of disappearing when she went 
through the door. And when she brought his flower back to the 
present, it had turned to dust. 
“I can’t be here?” His voice sounded incredulous. “What 
the hell are you talking about? Where is here? This section of 
the manor hasn’t even been built.” 
Mica saw his eyes flicker about, trying to absorb what he 
saw, and she didn’t know how to explain. 
“What’s going on out here? Who’s making all the noise?” 
Mrs. Barker stepped into the hall, dressed in a pink ruffled 
nightcap and a pair of men’s striped pajamas. Mica groaned as 
she watched the woman’s husband pop his bald head out by 
her side, curiosity clearly written across his sleepy face. 
“Mrs. Barker, there’s nothing to worry about.” 
“Who the hell is that?” Logan’s voice boomed in the 
silence, and Mica knew he couldn’t possibly understand what 
was happening. 
“Please, just be quiet a minute, and I’ll explain.” 
“I most certainly will not be quiet, young lady.” Mrs. 
Barker’s voice rose an octave. “You have no right to talk to me 
like that considering the amount we pay for these rooms.” 
Mica glanced from Logan to Mrs. Barker in astonishment. 
“I wasn’t speaking to you, I—” 
“Squawk—ERK, ER-er-erK!” 
Mica jumped a foot at the sound. Shock waves ricocheted 
through her body, and she glanced down to see Logan’s hand 
clasping her elbow. 
“What in the name of Satan is that?” Logan gasped. 
Mica thought hysterically that she couldn’t remember ever 
hearing him swear quite so much as he had in just the last few 
minutes. Her world was falling apart, and all she could think 
of was Logan’s sweet nature turning irreverent because of her. 
She giggled, glancing helplessly from the Barkers back to 
Logan, wondering why Mrs. Barker didn’t comment on his 
appearance at her side. 
“Michaela, answer me.” Logan’s stress-filled voice reached 

her. 
She tried to formulate a reply, but Mrs. Barker swept around 
the corridor and pounded on Professor Bigley’s door, 
demanding he silence his infernal alarm. Before the woman 
could beat the door down, the professor appeared in a knee-
length nightshirt, his gray hair standing on end. 
Demonic bleeps, which escalated into a continuous, ear-
piercing screech, emanated from the silver box he clasped to 
his chest. 
The incredible noise bounced against the shadowed hallway 
walls. As everyone shouted at once, their voices covered Mica’s 
strangled whisper. 
“Oh dear God, the ghost machine.” 

Nine
“This is it! Pictures—I’ll finally have pictures!” Professor 
Bigley shouted as he fumbled with a switch on the side of the 
box. 
Mica watched in horrified silence as he shuffled towards 
her, his ghost detector positioned in front of him. Buttons 
flashed and alarms blared over the others’ yelling. 
Her arm tingled, and she knew without looking that Logan 
still clutched her elbow. For some inexplicable reason, she felt 
the need to protect him. She stepped in front of him, hoping to 
block the professor’s view. 
“Turn that damned thing off!” Mrs. Barker barreled down 
the hall after the professor, and Mica saw her chance to get 
Logan away. 
She turned her head to whisper, “Stay behind me, no matter 
what happens.” Before she could move, he quickly stepped in 
front of her. 
“It’s my responsibility to protect you.” He reached out to 
push her behind him, but all Mica felt was the continuous tingle. 
“No!” She yelled to be heard above the clamor. Stepping 
back in front of Logan just as the flash of a camera momentarily 
blurred her vision. 
“This is no time to go chauvinistic on me, Logan. Just stay 
close,” she pleaded as she scooted along the wall, moving as 
quickly as she dared. 
She flipped the first switch she could reach on the box as 
she came abreast of the professor. The sudden silence echoed 
as loudly as the noise had. 
“Thank you so much, Professor,” she said. “I’m sure you 
have what you need now that you’ve interrupted everyone’s 

sleep.” She shouldn’t really blame him, but at the moment, she 
needed a diversion. 
“But,” the professor stammered. 
“Please, everyone, go back to bed. Hopefully there won’t 
be any more disturbances tonight.” Mica had reached the top 
of the stairs and started down, careful to keep herself between 
the patrons and Logan. She collided with Anna, who apparently 
had heard the commotion from her room below. 
“Get everyone back to their rooms and soothe any ruffled 
feathers, please,” she pleaded with the inn’s manager, but she 
didn’t wait to see if her instructions were carried out. 
She had to get Logan out of sight, because she could sense 
the tension building in him. It would be difficult to explain his 
presence to the other guests if he decided to react to his strange 
circumstances. 
She hurried down the short corridor to her apartment door 
before she realized she had no keys. “Damn!” She pivoted, 
raced back to the registration table and yanked the extra set 
out of a drawer. 
Logan followed her into the apartment, and she slammed 
the door behind them. Only then did she dare breathe easy. She 
slumped against the door, hanging her head in resignation. 
“Would you care to tell me what the hell just happened?” 
A see-through Logan stood before her, hands braced on hips. 
A dark scowl marred his handsome features. 
“I don’t know.” She shook her head in wonder, thinking 
the light was playing tricks on her, because he looked like a 
faded out photograph. Even so, she couldn’t believe he stood 
there in her twenty-first century apartment. 
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You walk through a 
door to a section of Indigo Bay which doesn’t exist, talk to 
people I have never seen before in my life, and move through 
this house as though you’ve lived here all your life.” He threw 
up his hands in despair and began pacing. 
“Oh, I thought you meant about the professor,” Mica 
hedged, trying to figure a way to explain their circumstances. 
Logan stopped pacing to turn in a circle, staring around 
the apartment. In slow motion, he moved from the couch to the 

dinette table, over to the TV and then to her desk, where 
yesterday’s newspaper lay. 
She rushed over to grab it, but the expression on his face 
told her it was too late. 
“That year can’t be real, can it?” He croaked as his head 
swiveled wildly around. 
Mica empathized with him. She hadn’t been ready for the 
difference in time when she first entered his world. She reached 
out to touch him, wanting to reassure him. Her hand passed 
right through his shoulder. 
“Oh, dear God!” Her hand flew to her mouth. 
Logan turned back at the agony in her voice. When he 
reached out, Mica could feel the tingles of his touch, but 
couldn’t feel his warmth. Rather than become angry, he tried 
again and again to touch her, but she could tell by his expression 
he felt nothing. 
“Michaela?” That single word echoed all his frustration 
and fear. 
She took a deep breath to calm herself before she blurted 
out the truth of their circumstances. “The door—the one we 
came through—is somehow a time passage. The year on the 
newspaper is correct, and this is Sea Crest.” She gestured to 
encompass the inn. 
“The door leads from Indigo Bay?” His voice doubted her 
words even as his eyes still surveyed the room. 
“Yes, well, Sea Crest is Indigo Bay. A descendant so to 
speak.” 
“This—this is what’s left of my plantation? Who are those 
mad people above stairs? Surely not descendants of mine?” 
Mica almost giggled at his incredulous tone. “No. Actually, 
this building is a bed and breakfast—an inn where people come 
to stay on vacation.” 
She knew this conversation didn’t make sense. Of course, 
nothing about her relationship with Logan had made sense from 
the beginning, but why was he taking this so well? 
Logan plopped onto the couch, or rather seemed to be 
absorbed by the couch. When he sat, the patterns shimmered 
through his shirt, and it became harder to see him. Mica 

panicked, wondering if the rules she had only guessed at could 
somehow make him disappear at this end of the time spectrum. 
“I am normally a logical man, as any lawyer should be, 
but this is all beyond me.” Logan shook his head in disbelief. 
“You say you live in the future, and you traveled back to the 
year 1850, to Indigo Bay, by going through that door? Why 
did you lie about who you were?” 
His accusation stung, and Mica felt the need to justify 
herself. “I never actually lied. I am from Sea Crest, and that’s 
all you ever asked me. Remember when I asked you about your 
Aunt Margaret and whether she knew anyone named 
Theodora?” At his nod, she continued. “My great-great-aunt 
was Theodora Josephine Ashley. She has letters written by 
someone named Maggie—letters that identify Indigo Bay, you, 
and Neil. 
“On her deathbed, my aunt told me to help Thomas, and 
when she died, she bequeathed me Sea Crest,” Mica continued 
before he could respond. “I didn’t realize that you were that 
person until I heard you called Thomas.” 
Instead of ranting or raving, or refusing to believe her, 
Logan listened without comment to her faltering explanation. 
She moved to the French doors that led to the garden. How had 
her aunt expected her to help him? 
She spotted the Cupid statue, flooded with moonlight, and 
recalled her aunt’s comments about a romantic man in Mica’s 
life. Perhaps her aunt and her friend, Maggie, had known all 
along that she and Logan would fall in love if they met. Perhaps 
that had been the reason for her bequest—not for Mica to help, 
but to have a chance at romance. But how could she have 
known? There was no indication in the letters that she’d actually 
met Logan. 
She turned back to face him. She’d known from the start 
that she played a dangerous game. Not knowing the rules had 
proved disastrous. “I didn’t understand what my aunt meant 
about helping you until it was too late.” 
He came to stand in front of her, reaching out before he 
remembered his transparent state. His hands dropped uselessly 
to his sides. “Too late for what, Michaela?” 

She sobbed into her hands, aching for his touch. “It was 
too late, because I had already fallen in love with you.” 
“As I have with you, sweet one.” 
She gasped at his pronouncement, then sobbed all the 
harder, cursing the fates for her misfortune. 
“We have really entangled ourselves, haven’t we?” His 
voice faded, and when Mica glanced up, she found he had 
moved to the windows. “You picked a fine time to declare your 
affections. All I want is to drag you off to the closest bed and 
make passionate, consuming love to you, and I’m unable to 
even touch you.” He gave a snort of disgust as he held his 
hands up where the light appeared to filter through them. 
He shook his head in disbelief before continuing. “For the 
moment, I’ll assume what you say is true. How is it possible 
for you to travel back in time where I can touch you and make 
love to you, but I cannot do the same? I’m like a ghost.” 
“Dear Lord.” Mica’s hands fell away from her face as 
understanding dawned. The professor’s machine really did 
work. A horrid thought struck her. The machine had taken 
pictures—photos of Logan and her after they came through 
the door. Now she understood why she had felt the need to 
protect him when they had been in the hallway. 
“Make me understand, Michaela,” he pleaded, and her heart 
ached for his situation. 
Since little could be done about the professor and his 
pictures, she concentrated on Logan. Actually, he was handling 
this very well considering his circumstances. How much could 
she tell him, however, without further disrupting the flow of 
history? 
“I’ll try to explain what I’ve learned about the rules 
involved in traveling through time. If a present-day object exists 
in some form in 1850, it can go through the passage. If not, it 
disappears.” She looked around the room for something to prove 
her theories. “The letters from your aunt, for example.” 
“And where are these letters?” He arched a brow in 
disbelief. 
Mica groaned. “They’re still in my room at Indigo Bay.” 
“What about me? Why did I change? Don’t men exist in 

your time?” 
Mica ignored his sarcasm. “I haven’t quite figured out your 
end of it. Perhaps since the future hasn’t happened yet for you, 
you can’t visit it. Whereas the past has happened, and therefore 
it’s possible for me to go back.” She saw by his expression he 
still questioned her explanation. 
“Look, I’ve found out some things don’t travel well. For 
example, my silk and cotton clothes remain the same, but 
zippers and plastic buttons just evaporate. Probably because 
they haven’t been invented yet.” 
His inquisitive gaze swept her figure. “That’s why you were 
dressed so strangely at times.” 
“Yes. All I know is I’d better not wear polyester.” 
He stepped away from the window and became a little more 
visible without the strong light shining through him. As he 
moved closer, Mica could feel the energy emitting from his 
body, the body she longed to touch and caress once more. His 
eyes deepened to a dark brown. 
“And what would become of this...this Polly Ester?” He 
spoke the word as though it were a name. 
Captured by his gaze, and wrapped in the electrifying aura 
that bound their spirits if not their bodies, Mica stammered, 
“It’s a fabric, and it would ... disappear.” 
He grinned at her. “Then I would definitely like to see you 
in polyester.” As quickly as his smile formed, a frown replaced 
it. He took the final step toward her so their chests touched and 
lifted his arms to wrap around her. 
“Can you feel me, Michaela? As we stand here touching, 
and yet not touching, do you have any idea how much I want to 
make love to you? Can you understand how desperately I want 
to claim you for my own, regardless of all you have said?” 
Mica felt the heat and vibrations of his body even if she 
couldn’t see him very well, and she craved his hard, solid 
presence. Unable to voice her heartbreak, she shook her head 
in denial. 
Logan’s arms dropped back to his sides as he sighed. He 
glanced once more around her apartment, then walked toward 
the door. 

“I have no purpose here. I have no existence. I must go 
back to my people, to my own time.” He turned to her, his 
glorious brown eyes full of misery which reflected her own. 
“I love you, Thomas Logan Rutledge,” she whispered on a 
sob. 
His shoulders lost some of their rigidity as his gaze caressed 
her. “I know,” he answered quietly, but remained at the door, 
waiting. 
“I’ll take you home,” she sighed in resignation. Grabbing 
the key, Mica prayed her guests were once again safely tucked 
away in their beds. 
This time when they reached the second floor, Mica turned 
to walk down the hall farthest away from the professor’s door. 
She motioned for Logan to move in silence before she realized 
he couldn’t make any noise. Her heart beat double-time, scared 
that if the machine was on, the alarm would start any instant. 
“Damn it to hell!” She had reached up to insert the key 
only to find someone had jimmied the lock. Rough grooves 
dug into the wood around the doorknob, and the flat metal 
plate on the door frame had been bent. The key wouldn’t turn 
in the lock. 
“It won’t work,” she whispered, frantic that someone would 
discover them. Whoever had tried to open the door might still 
be awake and watchful. She threw a furtive glance over her 
shoulder, imagining the Barkers with ears up against their door, 
ready to pounce at the slightest noise. 
“Here, let me try.” Logan reached around her to grab the 
key only to have his hand pass through the metal. She could 
see the panic in his eyes this time. “Do something. I don’t exist 
here.” 
“I can’t.” Her voice broke, her nerves raw from all she had 
been through. In the distance, she heard a soft bleep-bleep-
bleep and realized they didn’t have time to stand in the hallway 
and argue. 
“Come back to the apartment. I’ll have to call a locksmith.” 
Since she couldn’t touch him to move him away from the door, 
she made shooing motions with her hands. 
Immediately upon entering her apartment, Mica raced for 

the phone book. Her hands shook as she thumbed through the 
Yellow Pages, praying a locksmith lived in Cameron. The only 
number listed rewarded her with an answering machine. The 
voice on the message assured her he would get back to her as 
soon as possible. Mica practically shouted her name, number 
and address into the receiver, never thinking how odd her actions 
were until she hung up and turned to face Logan. 
His expression was one of disbelief. “What is that 
contraption?” 
“A telephone.” She glanced from the phone back to him. 
All the marvelous inventions of his future couldn’t take him 
back to his own time. She sighed. “It won’t be invented for 
another twenty-five years or so.” 
“Telephone.” He sampled the sound of the word. “If the 
telegraph means written words over a distance, then 
telephone—phone coming from the Latin for sound—could 
mean sound over a distance.” 
He raised both eyebrows in surprise. “Do you mean it’s 
possible to send your voice over a wire, like the telegraph, and 
someone hears it at another place and time?” 
“In another place, yes, but not another time.” Not unless 
you count Pacific Time, Mica thought, but decided not to try 
to explain that to him. 
Logan spun in a circle. “This is incredible. You are living 
in an age of wonder. What other machines have been invented? 
Tell me what will become of my plantation.” His face showed 
a sense of awe, as though she were a fortuneteller. 
Mica knew she must be cautious. “How much should I tell 
you, and how much do you really want to know?” 
If it were possible for a ghost to turn pale, Logan did. Barely 
above a whisper, his voice frightened her with its intensity. 
“You know when I die?” 
“No, I don’t know that. It’s just that you’re talking about 
more than one hundred years of history. Suppose I tell you 
something I shouldn’t, and when you return to your time, you 
inexplicably change history? What do you think might 
happen?” 
As if to emphasize her dire prediction, the clock on the 

wall chimed—four dainty tinkles that sounded more like a death 
knell. She shifted her eyes to the clock, unable to meet Logan’s 
direct gaze. 
“Michaela, talk to me.” His insistent voice caused Mica to 
glance over to find him sprawled on the couch as though he 
belonged there. He was taking this entirely too well. 
“How can you just sit there as though nothing is wrong?” 
she questioned, holding her stomach against the panic she felt. 
“I long ago concluded there are certain things over which 
I have no control. In such cases, it is better to adapt until a 
solution presents itself. Is there something else I can do about 
my predicament before your voice person answers your shouted 
message?” His voice sounded concerned but not desperate as 
he glanced at the phone. “He will somehow contrive to answer 
you, won’t he? Once the operator relays your message?” 
Mica refused to explain answering machines and the 
instantaneous method in which telephones operated. She was 
a lawyer, not a technological wizard. “Yes, he’ll return my call.” 
Defeated for the moment, she slumped into a chair opposite 
him. 
“I’ll tell you something of my life and the twenty-first 
century, but I will not explain anything remotely close to your 
time in history, okay?” She had to make sure he understood. 
At his nod, she commenced with a fascinating overview of 
the time in which she lived. For two hours she talked, and Logan 
listened avidly, only interrupting for details on inventions and 
other technology. She spoke of world trade, automobiles and 
airplanes. Fast food restaurants and inventions such as 
microwaves and computers. She showed him how the TV 
worked, but oddly enough he seemed more interested in the 
stock market concept. 
Mica knew there were numerous things she could share 
with him, but it was difficult. She was so used to the 
conveniences in her life, they didn’t seem that awesome to her. 
Finally, she quit talking and leaned back in her chair. 
She refrained from even hinting at the devastation of the 
War Between the States, Lincoln’s assassination, or what would 
eventually happen to his precious Indigo Bay. 

“What role do you play in this incredible, fast-paced world 
of yours?” Logan questioned when she paused for breath. “Do 
you manage this inn you call Sea Crest?” 
“Actually, no. Aunt Theo bequeathed Sea Crest to me, but 
I only came here for a vacation. I’m a member of a law firm in 
Charleston with my father and my uncle.” 
“You’re a secretary for your father?” 
“No, I’m a lawyer.” 
Logan shot upright from the couch to stand over her, hands 
on hips. “Women do not pursue careers, especially not a career 
in law,” he stated emphatically. 
She started to protest, but he held up a hand. For the 
moment, she decided to allow his nineteenth century 
chauvinistic ego to spout off. 
“Judith Cavanaugh enjoys the latest inventions and often 
has gatherings at her home. She invites scientists and inventors 
to expound upon their work in front of her friends. That does 
not make her a scientist.” He paced around the room as he 
instructed her, waving his index finger in the air to punctuate 
his remarks. Mica noticed that even in his outrage his body 
still had little more substance than a shadow. 
Mica couldn’t keep quiet. “This is too much. We’re talking 
about more than one hundred fifty years from your time!” 
“Nevertheless,” Logan continued, “principles regarding 
women are unbendable. Elizabeth loves to grow things. She 
and John have the largest hothouse in Cameron. She often 
supplies her friends with flowers for winter balls when there is 
no other way to get the variety.” He spun around to pierce her 
with his gaze. “That in no way makes her a tradesman.” He 
said the word with such a condescending air, Mica refrained 
from correcting him by saying tradeswoman. 
“In other words, if I work at a law firm, you think I can 
only be a secretary?” 
“If you are to convince me you have an occupation in this 
time, then yes. A secretary would be, if not believable, at least 
more plausible than being a lawyer. How could your father 
allow you to pursue such an unsafe profession?” 
Logan appeared adamant about this, and Mica wondered 

if his thinking had more to do with the attitudes of his day than 
he was letting on. “I thought you were more progressive than 
that, Logan,” she said. 
Her comment seemed to surprise him and he looked 
chagrin. “I will admit I admire your choice of careers and your 
desire to help the downtrodden, but surely you don’t want to 
associate with the dredges of society?” 
Mica frowned. There were definitely things she would 
change when she returned to Indigo Bay, and Logan’s attitude 
was just a start. As quickly as the thought came, her anger 
deflated, knowing their love could never be untangled. It wasn’t 
just a difference in attitude. 
Logan must have sensed her inner struggle, because his 
voice calmed as he said, “Michaela Marie, you should not 
have to work. You should be taken care of, pampered, given 
your heart’s desire.” 
“You don’t really believe me, do you?” 
“I believe you are the most desirable woman I know, and 
the most beautiful. I believe the mystery surrounding you is 
part of your appeal, but I doubt I would desire you less if I 
knew every detail of your past.” 
It was probably fortunate the phone rang at that time, 
startling Logan and giving Mica time to collect her thoughts. 
“Mr. Whitney? Yes,” Mica glanced at the clock. “I didn’t 
realize you worked so early. No, it’s an inside door, but it must 
be repaired immediately. Fine, I’ll meet you at the front door.” 
She turned to give Logan the news, but found his gaze intent 
on the phone that sat on the table. 
“Amazing. You talked into that...telephone, and the 
locksmith will come and do as you request?” 
“Well, he’ll come, anyway, in just a few minutes. He was 
on the way to work when he got my message, so will stop here 
first. We’ll have to keep our fingers crossed that he can do 
what needs to be done.” 
“Keep our fingers crossed?” 
“Just an expression. Look, I’m going to make some coffee.” 
She glanced his way while heading for the kitchen, but then 
stopped and stared. The first pale light of morning streamed 

through the French doors, and for a moment she couldn’t see 
him at all. 
“Logan?” His name caught in her throat as she watched 
the shimmering light particles move to the side of the doorway. 
Even with the wall behind him, his shape was less defined 
and much more transparent than it had been earlier. She had no 
trouble reading the depth of anguish on his face. Panic squeezed 
her heart that they may not have enough time to return him 
before he became only a memory. 
He turned to the light for an instant, then back towards 
her. “Michaela, I must go...soon. I want to feel the wind in my 
face and the rich earth sifting through my fingers.” He held out 
his hands, pleading with her to help him. 
“I know.” At that moment, the outside entrance buzzer 
sounded, and Mica silently said thanks that the locksmith must 
have been close by, perhaps answering her call from a cell 
phone. “Please, stay here. I can’t take a chance the professor’s 
alarm will sound again.” She paused with her hand on the knob. 
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 
She couldn’t say that perhaps the door couldn’t be fixed 
and he’d be stuck on this side—the side where she was alive 
but he couldn’t exist. 
Luckily, Anna hadn’t awakened with the buzzer. Mica 
quietly let the repairman in and guided him upstairs. 
“If you could work quietly since it’s still so early, I would 
appreciate it. We have guests, you know.” 
The locksmith nodded his gray head in agreement as he 
knelt to examine the lock. “It doesn’t appear to have damaged 
the lock itself. Someone mostly dug at the surrounding area a 
bit.” 
“Can it be fixed, exactly as it was before?” Mica’s nails 
dug grooves into her palms as she waited his answer. 
“Why exactly as it was?” 
“Well, because it has to be the same...to...” What? To allow 
her to use a key that opens a door to the past? She remembered 
what Anna had told her. “Everything is of the Georgian period. 
It must be the same to keep the symmetrical appearance of the 
house.” 

“That’s what your Aunt said when she had the same 
problem some forty years ago.” He shook his head and turned 
back to the door, digging into his toolbox. “Must be where all 
the family skeletons are kept.” He chuckled to himself as though 
he had made a great joke. 
Mica gaped at the back of his head, unable to form any 
kind of reply at all. Aunt Theo had known forty years ago? 
“I see the key is missing now, too, just like back then. 
Don’t see why a door needs fixed when there’s no key, but I 
suppose you know the answer to that.” Without waiting for a 
reply, he concentrated on his work. “I don’t need nobody 
looking over my shoulder when I work, Miss, so I’ll just knock 
on your door when I’m done.” 
Mica returned to her apartment, sending up a silent prayer 
that the locksmith could repair the damage before it was too 
late. She entered quietly to find Logan staring out the window, 
unaware of her return. She had done what she could. Now all 
they could do was wait. She slipped into her room, grabbed 
some clean clothes and started a shower. 
“How novel. I thought we had progressed as far as possible 
with indoor plumbing.” Logan commented from close by. 
Mica squawked at the sound of his voice. “I swear you’ll 
be the death of me,” she commented, sticking her shampooed 
head around the edge of the shower curtain. 
Logan stood, arms crossed and leaning against the door 
frame, looking terribly masculine and out of place in her aunt’s 
dainty bathroom, even in his current indistinct form. His heated 
gaze steamed the tepid water that ran down her back, causing 
her temperature to rise. 
She knew he couldn’t see through the opaque curtain, but 
she still felt his energy caress her slick skin. Knowing there 
was nothing she could do about the sensations which coursed 
through her body—at least not until they were back at Indigo 
Bay—she jerked the curtain closed and rinsed her hair. 
“I’d offer to share my shower, but in your condition I don’t 
think it would do any good.” 
“I’m afraid I have more than one condition which requires 
attention, but it will have to wait until your telephone man has 

fixed the lock.” His voice, clearly frustrated, still carried enough 
sexual innuendo to make her shiver with anticipation. 
Mica’s thoughts ran along similar lines, so she could 
understand his frustration. She changed the subject. “He’s not 
a telephone man, he’s a repairman,” she said as she pulled her 
wrapper on behind the curtain then stepped out of the tub. 
“He talked through the telephone.” 
“Everyone does that.” She shook out her hair and stood 
before the mirror to brush it, looking for Logan’s shadowy 
reflection in the glass. 
“Just like everyone drives these automobiles and airplanes 
you spoke of?” 
“Automobiles, yes, but not airplanes.” 
“Why not?” His brow lifted in question. Before Mica could 
formulate a reply, the doorbell rang. 
“Good, he’s done.” She hurried past Logan. While his 
ghostlike existence meant she couldn’t touch him, she still felt 
his presence as she moved to the door. 
“Could you fix it?” she asked even as she swung the door 
open. Her shoulders sagged when she saw who stood on the 
other side, and she tried to slam the door shut. But it bounced 
back open. 
“What are you doing here, Richard?” Her voice a 
monotone, she realized she had overcome all her feelings for 
the man except anger. 
“Why, I’ve come to see you, darling.” Richard moved 
quickly into the apartment before Mica could again slam the 
door in his face. He wrapped his arms around her as though 
happy to see her, which Mica knew was not the case. There 
could be only one reason he would travel to Sea Crest, which 
he confirmed the next instant. 
“You closed our accounts, Michaela. That wasn’t very 
nice.” 
She wiggled out of his embrace only to turn straight into 
Logan. The amazement on his face registered as quickly as her 
fear of Richard’s discovering him there. Richard appeared 
unconcerned, as though he couldn’t even see him. Mica tilted 
her head to the side, considering that possibility. 

“Say something,” she whispered to Logan. 
“Who the hell is that?” he snarled as Richard reached for 
her again. She spun around and sidestepped, searching 
Richard’s face for any sign that he’d heard Logan. All she saw 
was anger at her evasiveness. 
“Where’d you put the money?” Richard grabbed her arm 
and squeezed, but she stood firm, a smile lifting the corners of 
her mouth. 
“He can’t see you,” she said over her shoulder to Logan. 
“Who can’t see me? The banker?” Richard shook her, his 
tone belligerent. 
Mica clinched her teeth, her mind reliving all the horror of 
their last year of marriage. 
Logan growled, “Whether he can see me or not, if he 
doesn’t let you go this instant, I’ll find a way to kill him.” 
He stepped forward and surrounded her with his energy. 
Suddenly Mica felt warm and protected, his strength seeping 
into her and giving her courage. 
“Richard, let go of me,” she said in a firm voice. 
“Regardless of whether we’re outside of Charleston, I’m sure 
you remember the judge’s warning.” His hand dropped to his 
side, and she breathed a sigh of relief. 
She had managed to keep the abuse factor out of the divorce 
hearing, but she had had a private conversation with Judge 
Wilson. He had assured her he would relay to Richard what 
would happen if he ever touched her again. 
Richard ran his hands through his hair. The action caused 
Mica to become aware of things she had missed when he first 
burst into her home. His clothes were disheveled, his hair 
needed a trim, and his face looked puffy. 
“Look, Mic, the restaurant went under, and I need funds. 
You’re the one working for your father and getting a great salary, 
so why won’t you share?” His tone pleaded with her for 
leniency, but his eyes still held the anger she remembered. 
Richard never could understand how hard she worked for what 
she made. He actually thought she was just a figurehead and 
her father gave her money whenever she wanted it. 
“I’m already paying you plenty. There is no more.” She 

tried to keep the quiver out of her voice. Taking deep breaths, 
then exhaling slowly, she also tried to control her fear. 
Richard moved slowly around the room, eyeing the 
furnishings and fingering the draperies. Mica began to shake, 
the breathing exercises not working this time. 
Logan whispered in her ear. “Shh, take it easy. This man is 
all bluff.” 
“I’m afraid even though he looks kind of scruffy, he’s 
anything but bluff.” She leaned back into Logan, aching for 
the comfort she knew he could provide. Forgetting that he had 
little form, she lost her balance and almost fell. 
Richard turned back to her. “Perhaps I’ll just take a cut of 
this nice little business. No, maybe I’ll just take it over for 
you.” 
“Sorry, but the divorce was final six months ago. You have 
no claim to anything I acquire after that.” 
“Always the lawyer, aren’t you?” His voice escalated as 
he stalked toward her. 
Logan’s voice came from the area of her desk. “Can’t you 
use this telephone to contact the authorities?” 
“Yes.” Relief flooded her. She had forgotten everything 
except the menace her ex-husband posed. 
“So, you’re seeing the light,” Richard said, giving her a 
sinister smile. 
“What?” 
“You just said yes to a cut of this enterprise.” 
“Like hell,” Mica swore as she moved to the phone. 
“Michaela, such language.” Logan grinned as she stomped 
towards him. 
Mica looked from Logan to Richard and back, unable to 
keep track of two conversations at one time. Especially when 
one of the people talking didn’t know the other existed. Men! 
Why had she ever thought she needed them? When her gaze 
came back to Logan, though, she knew why. 
She gave a snort of exasperation as she pointed to Richard. 
“You. Sit down and stay put.” 
Turning to Logan, she hissed, “You, follow me,” then 
stomped off to the tiny kitchen. 

“Get me a beer while you’re in there,” Richard called after 
her. 
Mica’s eyes narrowed to a glare, but she bit back any retort 
she considered making. 
“Will you please be quiet and let me handle this?” she 
chided Logan, her anger more about Richard’s appearance than 
Logan’s comments. 
“He hurt you. I could see it in your eyes.” When she offered 
no response, he continued, “No gentleman has the right to abuse 
a lady in any manner. Especially a lady of quality such as 
yourself. I understand now why you divorced him.” 
“Look, I’ll get him to leave, somehow.” 
“I would prefer dragging him through the door with me, 
and then shooting him for what he has put you through.” 
His words were exactly what Mica needed to hear. By 
offering her assurance and comfort, even though he 
contemplated violence, he expressed his love and concern for 
her. It gave her the courage to return to the living room. 
With her hand on the phone, she said quietly, “Richard, 
you will leave now and never return. If I have to, I’ll call the 
police and have you removed.” 
He stood and took a menacing step towards her. She picked 
up the receiver, her finger poised to punch 911. She saw his 
hesitation before he gave a casual shrug and turned away. 
“You’ve changed, Mic, and not for the better.” 
“Get out of my life.” She kept her voice quiet until the 
door swung closed behind him. Then she added in a loud voice, 
“I hate being called Mic!” 
“Now what?” Logan questioned from the other side of the 
room. 
Mica watched as he raised a ghostly hand to the early 
morning sun streaming through the window. He turned his hand 
this way and that, a scowl on his face. She couldn’t begin to 
imagine what he thought. When she crossed the time barrier, 
she could still feel the sun on her face and could touch his 
bronze skin. She cursed her stupidity in not making sure Logan 
was away from the plantation when she tried to return. 
As she rushed to her bedroom, she said, “I’ll dress and see 

how the repairman is doing. Surely he’s done by now.” 
She’d no sooner pulled on shorts and a top then the doorbell 
rang for the second time. But as before, it wasn’t the one person 
Mica needed to see. 
“Katie, what on earth are you doing here?” Mica wedged 
herself between Katie and the door. Momentarily forgetting he 
couldn’t be seen, she frantically waved at Logan, hoping he 
would take the hint and step into her bedroom. 
“Is that any way to greet a friend who left her children and 
husband quietly sleeping and sneaked away like a thief in the 
night?” Katie tilted her head to the side, and Mica knew she 
had to think fast. 
“Of course not. I’m sorry. It’s just that things have not 
gone according to plan this morning.” Mica glanced back into 
the apartment to see Logan move toward her bedroom. For the 
first time since his ghostly arrival at Sea Crest, a mischievous 
smile darted across his face. 
He stepped out of sight but his voice clearly reached her. 
“It has come to my attention that I can neither be seen nor 
heard. Do you recall my telling you I try to make the best of 
any situation?” He popped his head past the door and graced 
Mica with a wicked grin. 
“This situation could prove very interesting.” 

Ten
Mica’s gaze jumped from Logan back to Katie. She should 
be glad to see her friend, but it would only complicate things if 
Katie stayed too long. While Logan might pretend to be amused 
by harassing her in front of her friends, she knew it was just a 
cover-up for his not having control of the situation. 
She sighed. Deciding for the moment to do as Logan 
suggested and adapt, she pasted a smile on her face. She 
wondered what Katie would say about Logan and felt a twinge 
of regret. Her best friend would never meet the best thing to 
ever happen to her. 
Inspiration struck as she opened the door wider for Katie 
to enter. Perhaps, as her closest friend and confidant, Katie 
might be able to see Logan. Perhaps Richard couldn’t because 
of his animosity towards her. 
As Katie plopped on the couch, Mica signaled for Logan 
to come out of the bedroom. “Katie, I want you to meet someone 
special.” 
“I’m glad you’ve finally met someone. It’s time you forget 
Richard and get on with your life.” Katie looked up as she 
spoke. Mica saw no surprise register, even though Logan now 
stood at her side. Her friend continued, “Now tell me about 
this new guy. Is he that handsome hunk you mentioned last 
week?” 
Logan laughed. 
Mica groaned. 
“His name is Thomas Logan Rutledge.” 
“Nice name. What does he look like?” Katie asked, tucking 
her legs under her on the couch. 
“Katie, can’t you see?” Mica asked in exasperation. 

“See what?” 
“Logan.” 
“Michaela Marie, I thought a vacation would do you good, 
but you’re sure acting strange. How could I have seen him 
when I haven’t met him?” 
Logan laughed as he said, “I thought this would be 
interesting. I just didn’t realize how much. Please tell Miss 
Katie that though she can’t see me, I am flattered to make her 
acquaintance.” 
Disheartened, Mica spoke to Logan without thinking to 
lower her voice. “It doesn’t matter now. I guess you can leave.” 
“Leave? I just got here.” Katie straightened from the couch, 
her brow furrowed. 
“I didn’t mean you. I...” Mica frowned as she looked from 
Katie to Logan. “Excuse me a minute. I’ll get us some coffee.” 
As she walked towards the kitchenette, she whispered to 
Logan, “Come here!” 
Once she had the safety of a wall between her and the 
living room, she turned, only to find Logan so close she yelped 
in fright. “I wish you’d quit sneaking up on me. You might as 
well stay in here or lie down in the bedroom. She can’t see 
you, anyway.” 
Logan had the audacity to grin. “I think I’ll stay. What else 
did you say about me besides being a handsome hunk? And 
I’m assuming that hunk, whatever it means, is a compliment.” 
Mica moaned. “I should have added conceited and 
arrogant.” She picked up two mugs of coffee and turned toward 
the door. “If you insist on staying in the same room, please 
don’t talk to me. It’s confusing holding two conversations at 
once.” 
“What did you say?” Katie shouted from the living room. 
“I can’t hear you in here.” 
Mica gave Logan a see-what-I-mean look. Pressing her 
mouth in a firm line, she struggled for the determination to 
ignore him. 
Mica really did try to concentrate on Katie’s chattering as 
they sipped their coffee. From the corner of her eye, she noticed 
Logan wander past the windows, then pause at the desk and 

study the telephone. At least he was respecting her wishes and 
being silent. 
Katie had just finished regaling Mica about last weekend’s 
country club dance when a flash of white sailed across Mica’s 
vision to land at her feet. Startled, she turned to where she had 
last seen Logan, only to find he had moved directly across the 
room from where she sat. Her eyes widened. His naked chest, 
though pale in his ghostlike state, radiated heat even from this 
distance! She jerked her gaze to the floor to find his translucent 
shirt in a puddle. 
“Quit that,” she said loudly without thinking. 
“You don’t have to yell at me. I know I shouldn’t bite my 
nails,” Katie said, hands fluttering to rest in her lap, “but you 
know me. Old habits are hard to break.” 
Mica tore her gaze away from Logan. “What?” she 
squawked as she heard a thunk. Logan’s belt landed on top his 
shirt. She squeezed her eyes shut. 
“My nails. Mica, you don’t look well. Are you feeling 
okay?” Katie reached over to pat her hand. 
“I’m...fine.” Mica could barely swallow as two consecutive 
thuds sounded from Logan’s vicinity. She didn’t think she could 
bear to look, but she couldn’t bear not knowing. 
Logan stood across the room, clad in only his snug black 
trousers. His bare chest glistened in the early morning light. 
He wiggled his bare feet. 
Mica had never considered a man’s feet sensuous, but as 
part of the whole sexy package parading before her, they almost 
caused her to hyperventilate. She dragged her gaze up his form, 
her insides churning and her blood pounding. He looked pretty 
real at that moment, not like a phantom at all. She held her 
breath and counted to five before slowly exhaling. It didn’t 
help. 
He had respected her wishes and hadn’t spoken, but the 
taunting smile on his kissable lips was hot enough to turn 
everything around them to cinder. She squeezed her knees 
together, the ache inside reaching fever pitch, and still she 
couldn’t tear her gaze from him. 
In slow motion, he slid his hands from his hips to the very 

center of his belly and then down. His gaze locked on her face, 
and her gaze locked on his hands as they leisurely unbuttoned 
his pants. One button—two— 
Mica groaned out loud, her head falling back against the 
couch as heat flashed through her. She just knew she had been 
struck by lightning. 
“You are sick, Mica! Your face is flushed, and you’re 
trembling.” Katie jumped up and immediately swung Mica’s 
legs onto the couch. She propped a pillow behind her head. 
Hurrying toward the kitchen, she said over her shoulder, 
“I’m going to fix you some herbal tea and then let you rest. I 
swear, I don’t know of anyone but you who could exhaust 
themselves on vacation.” Katie’s voice trailed off as she rattled 
around in the next room. 
Mica fully expected Logan to complete the striptease he 
had started. His expression told her he was aware of her 
anticipation, but the minute Katie disappeared, he quit 
undressing and moved towards her. He knelt beside the couch. 
“Are you ill? You look quite flushed.” His voice expressed 
concern, but his eyes twinkled, and the corners of his mouth 
twitched. 
“You know perfectly well exactly what’s wrong with me. 
Just wait until I get you back to where you’re solid enough to 
smack. Of all the low-down, rotten—” 
“I want you – desperately.” His whispered entreaty made 
the ache at her core worse. 
“You’re shameless.” 
“You’re beautiful when you’re all hot and flushed. I think 
I should like to keep you that way for an extremely long time.” 
Though she couldn’t feel his hand when he touched her cheek, 
the exotic sensations she always experienced in his presence 
suffused her with color once again. 
“First, we have to get you back home,” she said just as 
Katie entered from the kitchen. 
“I know I need to get home. I have no doubt Matthew will 
be upset, even though I left him a note saying I came up here.” 
Katie set a steaming cup of tea on the table by Mica’s head and 
bent to touch her forehead with the back of her hand. “You 

don’t feel hot, though your face is still flushed. I suggest you 
rest and not do anything strenuous. I’ll call tomorrow.” 
Mica started to rise, not nearly as overheated now that 
Logan had started putting his clothes back on. 
“Now don’t get up. I can see myself out,” Katie said as she 
headed for the door. 
“I’m not sick, really.” Mica said, though her legs wobbled 
slightly when she stood. 
“Mica...Now who can that be?” Katie asked as a knock 
sounded at the door. “I’ll get rid of them on my way out.” 
“No,” Mica and Logan shouted at once, though Mica’s 
voice was the only one echoing through the small apartment. 
She rushed forward as Katie opened the door. 
“Mr. Whitney, have you managed to fix the lock?” Mica 
asked as soon as she saw the man standing in the hall. 
“I’ve done what I can, but without a key, I don’t know if it 
will work.” The gray-haired locksmith stood to one side as 
Katie exited the apartment. 
“Mica, don’t be worrying about some door.” Katie gave 
her a final hug. 
“I’m fine, Katie. Give Matthew and the kids a kiss for 
me.” 
“There’s just over a week until the big Labor Day 
celebration. You’ll be back in Charleston by then, won’t you?” 
Katie kept talking even as she walked down the hall toward 
the outside entrance. 
Labor Day! Mica didn’t even want to think about that. 
Already she was thinking about asking her father for an 
extension. “We’ll see. Bye, Katie.” 
In the next breath she turned to Mr. Whitney, who had stood 
patiently waiting. “Thank you for responding so quickly to my 
call. If you’ll just send me a bill, I’ll see that it’s paid promptly.” 
“Don’t you want to see if the lock works first?” He frowned, 
and Mica knew he didn’t understand why she had made the 
job sound so urgent if she wasn’t going to check out the door. 
“I’m sure you’ve done your best, and I’ll pay you regardless 
of whether or not the door works.” Mica prayed the man would 
leave. She only hoped no one else came calling before she could 

disappear upstairs with Logan. She glanced at her watch— 
less than an hour before Sunday brunch. Hopefully all the guests 
would still be sleeping or already out of their rooms. She 
certainly didn’t need Mrs. Barker interfering right at this 
moment. 
“I guess that does it then. I’ll send you a bill.” Mr. Whitney 
left, and Mica breathed a sigh of relief. As soon as the door 
closed behind him, she hurried to her bedroom to retrieve the 
key. 
Logan waited by her apartment door. She thought it strange 
that he had not tried walking through doors or walls. She 
supposed that even though he was transparent to her, he still 
felt himself whole and unable to perform such feats. 
“Ready?” she whispered, though no one was in sight. 
“I’ve been ready to return since this nightmare started. I 
don’t understand how you can enjoy this world where 
everything moves so fast. People fly into and out of your life 
with rapid irregularity, and there’s such an incredible amount 
of noise.” 
Mica moved swiftly up the stairs as she mulled over what 
Logan had said. He was right. Modern life did have its 
drawbacks, but if she had gotten stuck back in his time without 
the key, she would miss—what would she miss? Except for 
Katie and her parents, Mica couldn’t think of a thing she 
couldn’t live without if she had to. 
She held her breath as she inserted the key in the lock and 
turned it. A soft click brought her breath whooshing out. “It 
works.” She experienced the familiar tingle as she turned the 
knob and swung the door open. 
Logan stepped quickly over the threshold. She hadn’t 
consciously thought about returning with him and she 
tentatively reached out to touch his arm. He grabbed her wrist 
and jerked her through the doorway, his grip unbearably tight. 
“Hey! What are you doing?” Her question and rising anger 
at his proprietary attitude melted away when his lips crushed 
hers. His arms circled her in a bruising hug, and yet Mica 
understood exactly what he needed. She had felt incomplete 
during his stay at Sea Crest—moving about the same rooms, 

talking, yet unable to touch. It had been torture for her, too. 
“God, you are real.” Logan clasped her to his chest, his 
breath harsh in her ear as he moaned her name again and again. 
He couldn’t seem to quit touching her, his hands roaming the 
contours of her back. He kissed along her hairline, down her 
cheek and across the bridge of her nose, punctuating each word 
with yet another kiss. 
“I thought I was losing my mind. I’ve never felt so 
helpless.” He clutched her shoulders and pushed her away 
enough to search her face, frowning. 
“What an incredible nightmare. Thank God I’m awake now, 
and you didn’t really fall through that door.” 
“But Logan, it wasn’t a dream.” Mica had wondered how 
long it would take before his initial reaction of wonder wore 
off. 
“I don’t want to discuss it. Just stay here by my side and 
let me touch you—let me know you really exist and that the 
past weeks haven’t been an hallucination.” Logan swung her 
up into his arms, his grip possessively tight but no longer 
crushing. 
Mica pulled away from his embrace as much as she could, 
dread creeping up her spine at his expression. He stared past 
her to the door, the look of disbelief still clearly written on his 
features. She could tell he really didn’t believe they had visited 
the other side. “Logan, you can’t just wish away what 
happened.” 
His gaze returned to her face, the haunted look fading. He 
spun on his heel and carried her toward her bedroom. “I have 
only one wish,” he stated as he kicked the door closed. “That 
is to make love to you until we’re both too breathless and 
exhausted to think of anything else.” 
*** 
Logan watched Michaela sleep, curled against his side, 
her warmth radiating against his own bare skin. He idly turned 
the brass key over and over in his hands. 
It was far too late to save his heart—they’d gone beyond 
the point of no return. And yet he didn’t know how to convince 
Michaela she belonged to him, not to some far-fetched time as 

she would lead him to believe. 
He fingered the key. He had known there was something 
unique and special about her. She had come to him in the night, 
with no clothes and no reason, and he hadn’t questioned her. 
He snorted. He had definitely known better than to question 
her. He hadn’t wanted the dream to burst—hadn’t wanted to 
admit he’d fallen in love with an illusion. But as he gazed on 
her now, warm and soft against him, he realized she was no 
phantom in his time. 
Different from any other woman in both manner and dress, 
she stood up to him and spoke her mind. She willingly 
participated in the concerns of the plantation. Other women 
would have fainted rather than fight a fire or be seen barefoot 
with soot covering their faces. Michaela had shown him her 
passionate nature and her feminine side. She’d shown him her 
compassion and her practicality. And he had fallen in love with 
every facet of her being. 
He marveled at her willingness to adapt to his way of life. 
While he felt comfortable with his lifestyle, she must think it 
crude and backward, given all the modern inventions in her 
time. 
She wiggled against his side, sighing his name in her sleep. 
“I love you,” he whispered as he bent to kiss her cheek. He 
was driven by a desperate hunger for the softness, the goodness, 
and the faith she brought to his world of hard work and little 
reward. His fingers folded tight around the key. He would do 
anything—everything—in his power to keep her here. 
*** 
Mica woke with a smile early that evening. Logan had 
disappeared, yet the scent of him lingered. She reveled in being 
back in his arms and back at Indigo Bay. 
He had refused to acknowledge the time spent at Sea Crest. 
Mica realized eventually things would have to be put to rest, 
but for the moment she was content. She would not let it 
interfere with her happiness. 
It had taken the absence of his touch to make her aware of 
her need for him. Though they had still talked during his foray 
into the future, it was the physical manifestation of their love 

that fused their souls as nothing else could. Touching, kissing 
and making love could only be achieved here at Indigo Bay. 
Mica spent less and less time thinking about her life before 
meeting Logan. 
She enjoyed the elegance and leisure of Logan’s time. Since 
others did the cooking and cleaning, the lack of modern 
appliances didn’t bother her. She had become accustomed to 
the clothes, the lamplight, and the isolation. More than any 
luxury, though, she enjoyed long carriage rides with Logan, 
either up to the bluff or down along the beach. 
No doubt corruption and poverty and most of the problems 
of modern day Charleston had already started in the towns. As 
a lady in Logan’s home, however, she wasn’t expected to know 
about such things, much less deal with them. That suited her 
fine, because she was tired of trying to solve everyone else’s 
problems. In 1850, the responsibility lay elsewhere. She didn’t 
regret not having to make those decisions. 
Her relationship with Logan also left no regrets. Though 
he leaned towards arrogance and possessiveness at times, his 
arrogance suited him for the era in which he lived. Even his 
protective nature touched a chord deep within Mica. It was 
nice to feel protected instead of always being the protector. 
Though possessive, Logan allowed her the freedom to speak 
her mind and even question him. 
Unwittingly, she compared Logan to her ex-husband. Logan 
possessed all the traits she had wanted to see in Richard, but 
which had never materialized—honesty, responsibility, 
gentleness, and a willingness to share his life and be concerned 
about her own. 
She smiled as she recalled how upset Logan had been when 
he learned she often visited the jail. He finally admitted he 
admired her choice of careers and her desire to help the 
downtrodden, but it outraged him that her father would allow 
her to pursue such an unsafe profession. 
She heard the downstairs clock toll the hour as she dressed. 
Mica refused to spend any more time reflecting on her past. 
She needed to make new memories—enough to last her a 
lifetime once she returned to Charleston in less than a week. 

“Don’t think about that,” she chastised herself, not wanting 
to face reality. The time would go fast enough without 
constantly thinking about it. Tonight she would not allow herself 
to brood. 
Logan greeted her at the top of the stairs with a kiss that 
she returned with equal fervor. He held her at arm’s length. “If 
you keep that up, I’ll sweep you off your feet for a repeat of 
our earlier magic.” Brown eyes twinkled at her as he spoke. 
His lean finger traced the line of her jaw upwards, where he 
tucked her hair behind her ear. 
Mica shivered, but not from the tickle of his finger. She 
recalled with vivid clarity the desperate passion Logan had 
exhibited. If he believed they had visited her time, he never 
said so. Instead, he had possessed her by making love to her in 
exotic ways, as though that were his talisman for anchoring 
her in 1850. She only wished it were that easy. 
She linked her arm through his and turned him towards the 
stairs. “As much as I liked your attentions, I’m starved now.” 
“Liked? You merely liked?” Logan stopped mid-stride on 
the stairway, jerking Mica to a stop before she tumbled headlong 
down the rest of the steps. “If that is your reaction to my 
heartfelt endeavors, I most definitely will have to try harder.” 
He tugged on her arm as though intent on propelling her back 
upstairs. 
Mica laughed, enjoying the sexual banter. “Come here,” 
she whispered in her most seductive voice. When he stepped 
closer, she lowered her voice further, employing all her Southern 
charm. “The exotic paths we traveled enraptured my heart.” 
“That’s more like it.” He grinned as they resumed their 
descent to the main floor. 
She leaned closer to whisper as they entered the foyer, “I 
was enthralled with your marvelous expertise and profuse 
performance.” Logan’s arm quivered beneath her touch, but 
she wouldn’t relent. “My skin still tingles from the erotic 
pleasures we shared. I get hot all over just thinking about taking 
you in my—” 
“Michaela Marie!” 
Logan actually blushed, and Mica was delighted to find 

him passionate but not perverted. She released his arm and 
sailed through the dining room door. That would teach him to 
beg a compliment from her. 
“Good evening, Simon. Please give my greetings to Mattie. 
It seems an age since I last saw either of you.” Simon smiled to 
her as she spoke. She waited at the table for Logan to seat her, 
but when he did, it was with an unexpected challenge. 
“You win this round, sweet one,” he whispered as he bent 
close. Before she could turn, his tongue flicked around the shell 
of her ear, sending goose bumps down both arms. “But be 
forewarned. You will have to beg me to make love to you the 
next time.” 
Simon had the audacity to interrupt their intimate 
conversation by serving their meal, but Mica couldn’t really 
blame him. He had no way of knowing how she ached inside, 
both from her own comments about their lovemaking and from 
Logan’s dare. While there were definite characteristics about 
Logan she liked other than his magical physical prowess, that 
alone might have made her a slave to his desires. 
Her mind searched for a sensible topic of conversation as 
she ate her fruit compote. Though it seemed an age ago, she 
recalled the fire that had occurred just last night. 
“I assume you’ve been out to survey the fire damage? Was 
the crop salvageable? Were any of your workers hurt?” She 
fired questions at him as Simon served the next course. 
Logan smiled at Michaela’s innocence. Unaware of the 
social dictates against discussing business during a meal, and 
in front of servants, no less, she expressed genuine concern for 
his plantation. 
“Once the indigo’s processed and pressed into blocks, it’s 
moved to the drying sheds. The majority of our first harvest is 
at the drying stage, and the second harvest won’t occur until 
mid-September. That didn’t leave a tremendous amount of dye 
in the processing shed which burned.” He frowned as he sipped 
his wine. “Regardless, I’m stymied as to who started the fire, 
and why.” 
Logan glanced at her, but she remained silent. She had 
spoken out against his stepbrother, but once he had refuted her 

argument, she hadn’t brought it up again. For that matter, he 
had not seen Neil for several days and assumed he remained 
out of town on business. He felt sure that in time Neil would 
find his own way in the world. 
As for himself, he found he enjoyed discussing business 
with Michaela. She had a level head on her shoulders, and he 
could voice his concerns and feelings freely, knowing she would 
be honest and forthright with him. He hadn’t realized how much 
he missed the interaction of other people when he cut himself 
off from his friends after his mother died. 
Michaela incorporated all he could hope and dream of. 
From a concerned friend to a passionate lover, she exhibited a 
tenderness rare in Logan’s world. He still didn’t quite 
understand the one rather large gap in their relationship. Unless 
she brought it up, he was determined not to mention the 
inevitable. 
Instead of expressing his emotional thoughts out loud, he 
spoke only in fact, saying, “Money will be tight, but the indigo 
market is good, and we should get a top price for our crop. The 
Indigo Bay imprint has stood for quality since the plantation 
began production over one hundred years ago.” 
“Imprint?” Michaela asked, and Logan realized he had 
never taken her through the entire process. 
“It’s difficult to explain and much easier to show you. 
Would you care to take a stroll after dinner?” 
Her glowing smile made his heart ache. “I’d love to.” 
They shared coffee on the front porch before walking down 
the lane arm in arm, beneath the arch of trees lining the drive. 
No words were needed for Logan to know how Michaela felt. 
Her sea blue eyes spoke of her love. Her possessive grip on his 
arm told him she wanted to remain close by his side. 
Her lips quivered ever so slightly when she glanced up at 
him, and Logan knew the thoughts left unspoken were not words 
he wanted to hear. He drew her close to place a gentle kiss on 
her soft lips. His own silence begged her for a reprieve from 
the unknown future over which he had no control. 
Glowing lanterns from the low-roofed drying shed afforded 
enough light to show them the way. He didn’t speak until he 

led her inside. 
“This is the last of a very long process in preparing indigo 
for market.” He surveyed the room with pride, knowing Indigo 
Bay was well on the way to regaining its status as a leader in 
the dye market, regardless of the losses he had experienced. 
As he explained, he took her hand and led her between 
long wooden trays, each containing racks of the dark blue cakes. 
“The cubes must be protected from direct sunlight. If drying is 
too quick, the cubes will split or crack, fetching a lower price 
on the market. 
“The dye is compressed into lumps of twenty-two pounds, 
then later cut into handier cubes of four ounces, which are 
impressed with our stamp, very similar to the way tea is 
produced.” He held up a block to show her. The imprint showed 
the delicate Indigo flower surrounded by an outline of Indigo 
Bay Island. 
“This stamp is known worldwide, and it stands for the 
quality of our dye. It’s our reputation. Because indigo is 
expensive and most sought after, there have always been those 
who have tried to falsify the process. While large trading houses 
and dye-works can test new parcels in their own laboratories, 
smaller concerns have to complete costly test dyeing. 
“With our stamp, they know they can rely on quality, and 
this saves them time and money.” Logan couldn’t help the pride 
in his voice. The long, strenuous process of producing this dye 
was worth the effort. The best textile mills in the world would 
use his product in their fabrics. 
“Don’t you have to worry about the stamp wearing off, or 
getting wet and dissolving?” 
“Indigo is insoluble in water. When the plant is subjected 
to fermentation a substance present, particularly in the leaves, 
produces indigo. When combined with an alkaline reduction it 
turns into a solution in which dyeing can be achieved. 
“However, when the textile-materials are lifted from the 
dye-bath, the oxygen in the air transforms it back into its 
original insoluble state. It’s one of the few dyes that is absolutely 
fast.” 
Logan glanced down to find Michaela’s gaze fixed 

rapturously on his face. He flushed. “I seem to have expounded 
far beyond what you really wanted to know. Your eyes are 
glazed over.” 
“I love the sound of your voice. Tell me more.” 
Her compliment fed his ego, but he longed for something 
other than talk. “If you desire, sweet one, step outside into the 
darkest night, and I’ll share more than my voice with you.” 
It took little persuasion for Michaela to latch onto his arm. 
He escorted her from the drying shed, only to hear thunder 
rumble in the distance. Thoughts of a torrid interlude beneath 
the trees fled when huge drops of rain splattered the dry ground. 
“We’d best get back before we’re soaked to the skin.” 
Transferring his grasp to her hand, he tugged her along the 
path, anxious to regain the house before it rained harder. 
They didn’t make it. Warm summer rain poured from the 
sky, forcing them beneath the shelter of the trees. Even there, 
water seeped through the branches, affording them a rather 
leaky shelter. The house, obscured by the storm, formed a distant 
shadow. Lights from the windows were only a pale glow. 
Logan sucked in a breath of fresh air—a combination of 
earth and sky—clean and refreshing. He stood behind Michaela, 
hugging her close to his chest. Life was good. His crops would 
see his people through another year, Michaela loved him as he 
did her, and the Lord above provided rain to sustain the Earth 
that in turn provided his livelihood. He smiled with contentment, 
even as the steady downpour trickled water down his back 
beneath his shirt and plastered his hair to his head. 
“Have you ever made love in the rain?” Her question 
startled him from his silent reflections. 
“I am a properly brought up gentleman, Michaela Marie. I 
wouldn’t think of doing anything of the sort outside the confines 
of the bedroom.” Even as he spoke, he ached with longing and 
pulled her tighter against him. 
Michaela turned in his embrace, nipping his chin with her 
teeth. “I do recall, sir, one particular night when we didn’t quite 
make it to the bedroom.” As she spoke, she rubbed against 
him, her hips sliding across his groin. His manhood, already in 
a state of arousal, throbbed in response to her suggestive 

movements. 
Logan leaned against the tree in a stupor as Michaela 
stepped from beneath its protection into the rain. Unmindful, 
she spread her arms outward and twirled slowly in front of 
him, the rain turning her blouse transparent and molding her 
skirt to her hips. While he knew she could not command the 
heavens to rain, he realized she must have premeditated her 
seduction, for he swore she wore nothing beneath the thin cloth 
of her dress. 
She lifted her hands to her head, slowly brushing her wet 
hair from her face. Her movements tugged the material of her 
blouse tighter, the rosy tips of her nipples jutting out in 
invitation. He reached for her, but she stepped back. She licked 
the rain from her lips, her gaze fixed on his face. Slowly, 
erotically, she undid her buttons and shrugged out of her blouse, 
letting it fall to her waist. 
Logan thought he would explode. Rivulets of water 
caressed her breasts, making her skin shimmer. He ached to 
kiss away the rain—to lick the water from her skin. 
“Do you want me?” she whispered across the distance. 
Logan moaned. His breath came in shallow gasps. His 
hands clutched in need, and still she tortured him. 
“Do you ache for me with every breath of your being? 
With every second that passes, do you long for me in your 
arms?” 
His voice rasped with longing as he said, “You won the 
last round, and I swore you would have to beg me the next 
time. But I will gladly lose this time, also, for you create a 
need in me too great to take slowly.” 
He unbuttoned his shirt, jerking it from his pants. The warm 
rain caressed his skin, but when she stepped close to rub her 
breasts against his chest, he knew steam rose in their wake. 
“There are no losers. In this, we both win.” Her lips, wet 
and hot, touched his. They needed no words, for a flood of 
desire shook them even as the thunder shook the heavens. 
Michaela’s fingers threaded through his hair as she kissed 
him, and Logan sensed her desperation. Wanting to prolong 
their passion, but unable to withstand the hunger, he fumbled 

with the buttons on his trousers, jerking the wet fabric open. 
Bunching Michaela’s skirts up around her waist, he found the 
hot, moist center of her, unimpeded by undergarments. One 
touch told him she was more than ready. He slid his hands over 
her bare buttocks as she kissed a fiery path across his jaw and 
down his neck. 
“It is your fault I’ve lost my control and forgotten all my 
manners, but we will discuss it later.” With total abandon, 
leaning against a tree in the rain, Logan lifted her hips to his 
and thrust upward. 
“Logan,” she cried against his neck, biting him in her 
passion. She then arched back, legs clutching his waist as his 
hands supported her weight against him. Unleashed passion 
consumed him as her body clutched around his. He bent to 
capture her slick breast in his mouth, the contact inciting a 
frenzied reaction. 
“More, please, I beg you,” she cried. 
Her hips arching against his punctuated each word as she 
created a whirlpool that pulled him deeper and deeper into her 
depths. Her eyes widened, her face glorious as passion swept 
through her. Her release triggered his own explosive climax. 
“Love me, Logan, as though there were no tomorrows. 
There’s only now—this fragment of time we’ve been granted.” 
In that moment of his deepest need, he couldn’t discern 
whether the moisture shimmering in her blue eyes was 
raindrops, or tears. 

Eleven
Drenched to the bone and exhausted, Mica and Logan 
sneaked into the house just as the clock struck midnight. Logan 
insisted she dry off and crawl beneath the warm covers. He 
promised to return to her later. 
“There are business matters I must see to before market 
day.” He sat on the edge of her bed, bending to place a gentle 
kiss on her lips. 
Mica wanted him to stay, and almost begged him. But she 
bit back the words. In a few short days, she would be gone, 
and Logan would have to conduct business and provide for his 
people. She had no right to claim his time, no matter how she 
ached to keep him with her throughout the night. 
He smiled mischievously. “Though my business intentions 
were good prior to dinner, it seems I became slightly distracted.” 
“Only slightly?” Mica teased. 
His warm lips trailed a breathless path up her cheek to her 
ear. “Your wanton behavior will keep my dreams warm through 
the coldest night.” 
“That’s better,” she replied, willing to let him have the 
advantage. 
It seemed Logan had other ideas, though, and continued to 
test her limits. “The next time we need rain, I would prefer you 
dance completely naked, for surely the rain god could be no 
less pleased with your luscious form than I. The way the rain 
caressed your bare breasts, and the taste of it on your skin—” 
Mica clamped a hand over his mouth, but couldn’t conceal 
his laughing eyes. 
When she removed her hand from his mouth, he said, 
“Never fear. In just a short while I shall return to make sure 

you’re completely dry.” 
Mica couldn’t see him leave through the mist of unshed 
tears. The instant the door closed behind him, she burst into 
sobs, stuffing the corner of the pillow into her mouth to muffle 
the sound. But nothing could stop her heart from breaking. 
“Aunt Theo, I will never forgive you.” 
Although she cursed her dear aunt soundly, she knew the 
fault to be her own. Only a month ago, she had laughed at 
Katie’s foolish idea that she might find the man of her dreams 
at Sea Crest. Now, within a matter of days, she would have to 
give up that dream to pursue her life—her responsibility-filled, 
dull life. 
*** 
Much later, as the moon broke the cloud cover to wash 
across the bed with silvery light, Logan watched Michaela 
sleep. Her pale face, streaked with dried tears, tore at his heart. 
A moonbeam glinted off the key that lay on the table beside 
the bed. Again he considered insuring she remained by his side, 
but he knew the choice must be hers. 
He shrugged out of his clothes and slid into bed, pulling 
her tight against his heart. If his love couldn’t bind her to him, 
he would be lost forever. He didn’t even know how much time 
they had left. She had never said, and he feared asking. 
It was like stumbling across your own marker in a 
graveyard. Your name and birth were clearly written. The only 
fact lacking was the date on which you ceased to exist. Logan 
was positive his heart and soul would leave with Michaela. 
“Trust in the Lord,” his mother had always told him, even 
on the heart-wrenching day of his father’s funeral. Somehow, 
Logan didn’t think the Almighty had planned on Michaela 
Marie finding a breach in His grand scheme of things. 
He thought of waking her and making love to her again to 
prove she belonged with him. Although he realized she already 
knew of his love and returned it wholeheartedly, he feared it 
wouldn’t be enough in the end. 
The night passed, but Logan didn’t sleep. The moon 
disappeared from view and cast the room in total darkness. 
Still he held her close, memorizing her face, caressing the silk 

texture of her dark hair. He recalled how she’d tuck it behind 
her ear, not even aware of the endearing gesture. Though her 
eyes were closed, he could visualize their vivid blue twinkling 
at him in laughter as she teased him, or turning dark with passion 
as she loved him. 
“I love you so much,” he whispered against her hair. 
“I know,” she answered, her voice sleepy, as she turned in 
his arms. Her warm, naked body slid against his with perfection. 
“And I will love you until my dying day. My heart will remain 
here with you always, even when—” 
“Don’t!” Logan refused to allow her to say the hurtful 
words out loud. With unerring precision, he molded his lips to 
hers. 
He worshipped her body, kissing every part of her, bringing 
her to a crest of passion. Only when she sobbed his name in 
her ecstasy did he enter her, driving deep to mesh their bodies 
into one. Hoping to get her with child, if that were the only 
way to bind her to him, he climaxed, hot and throbbing and 
wanting still more of her. 
He collapsed against her, tucking his face into the curve of 
her neck, nibbling at her skin. 
“Dear Lord, what’s to become of us?” Her ragged sob 
reached him over the pounding of their hearts. 
Rolling to his side, he hugged her close. Though he had no 
answer for the fear she voiced, he somehow needed to reassure 
her. “Shh, sweet one. It’ll be all right, I promise you.” The 
salty taste of her tears left a bitter ache in his heart. 
A tentative knock at the door jerked Logan upright. When 
he didn’t answer right away, the knocking became insistent. 
“Mister Logan, you in there?” 
Logan recognized Ezra’s voice and scrambled to pull on 
still-damp trousers. Ezra never came into the main house, much 
less to interrupt Logan in the middle of the night. He fumbled 
for his watch. Dawn was two hours away. Dread washed over 
him. 
“What is it, Ezra?” he questioned, throwing the door open. 
He quickly glanced back at the bed, hoping Michaela was 
covered, but at the moment not concerned about the propriety 

of his being in her bedroom. 
Ezra stood twisting his hat in his hands and shuffling from 
one foot to the other. “They done it again, Mister Logan. Bad 
this time.” 
“Done what—did what?” Logan stomped into his boots as 
he spoke. 
“It’s bad.” The old black man hung his head in sorrow. 
“We had a guard posted, like you said, but Henry found Arthur 
with a knot on his noggin’ when he went out to take his place. 
Arthur come ‘round, but don’t recall nothing and nobody, it 
being dark and all.” 
“Ezra, get to the point. What happened?” Logan cared about 
Arthur, but since it appeared the man was all right, he needed 
to know what new disaster had struck. 
“The indigo, Mister Logan. It all been smashed to pieces.” 
Ezra almost cried as he spoke the words. 
“Oh, God,” Logan moaned, racing down the hall and 
forgetting all else in his hurry. 
*** 
Mica squirmed restlessly on the bed as Logan spoke with 
Ezra. Unable to get dressed with the door wide open and the 
foreman in view, she waited in agitation until Logan raced away. 
Now, as she tore through her clothes to locate a skirt and 
top, she prayed the damage wasn’t as bad as Ezra had indicated. 
Poor Logan! All his hard work—all the loving care he took 
with his plantation—only to have someone destroy it. 
The entire household was astir by the time Mica flew down 
the stairs. Mattie, in nightcap and robe, lit lanterns as her 
husband, Simon, struggled to hitch up his suspenders. Lana 
and Annie stood nervously twisting their hands. 
“Hurry, Simon,” Mica called over her shoulder, grabbing 
a lantern as she raced out the door. The instant she stepped 
onto the drive, she began to curse. She’d forgotten to put on 
shoes. After hopping her way across the crushed shell, she ran 
through the grass at the side of the drive. 
When she rounded the bend, it became immediately 
apparent exactly where disaster had struck. The drying shed 
glowed with the light of a dozen lanterns, and dark shadows 

were racing back and forth past the windows. From this 
distance, she couldn’t see Logan, but knew he’d be right in the 
middle of everything. 
Mica gasped upon entering the shed. Tray after tray of dye 
cakes were upended, the indigo smashed on the floor or lying 
crumbled on broken racks. The air, thick with a blue haze, 
choked her when she tried to breathe. 
Logan’s workers were silent as they worked to set the shed 
to rights. Even as they worked, Mica saw their gazes shift 
continuously to the man who stood in the middle of it all. 
Dear Lord, it’s so unfair, she silently cried as she watched 
Logan survey the damage. He’d been so proud of his 
accomplishments earlier that night, and now his shoulders 
slumped in defeat. Tears filled her eyes as he bent to pick up 
one of the larger pieces lying at his feet, only to crumble it in 
his fist. 
A small cry escaped her when his gaze caught hers across 
the room. His eyes, usually so full of laughter and life, now 
appeared sunken and hollow with despair. He looked at her, 
yet Mica doubted he saw her at all. 
She reached a hand out in supplication, but he ignored the 
gesture. His face, contorted with tightly controlled rage, was 
unfamiliar to her. Mica, fearing for him if he released his anger 
on some unsuspecting person, walked slowly towards him. The 
others backed away when they caught sight of Logan, but Mica 
didn’t fear for herself. If she had learned anything at all in her 
time at Indigo Bay, it was that Logan was a gentle man, not 
prone to violence. Even to the extent to which this catastrophe 
had pushed him, she knew he wouldn’t harm her. 
“Damn them to everlasting hell!” 
Mica jumped at his bellowed expletive, but she stood her 
ground even as he hurled a clump of indigo against a far wall. 
The solid thunk seemed enough to break him from his stupor, 
and he began storming up and down each aisle. 
“Logan, what are you looking for?” She had to get him to 
talk. If he didn’t, he would surely explode even more. 
“Evidence! Proof! Anything to tell me who wanted so 
desperately to destroy me that he would destroy the entire 

island!” 
He picked up a cake of dye, but apparently found some 
flaw for he carelessly tossed it back into the pile on the tray. 
Mica followed him as he wandered aimlessly back and forth. 
“You can’t find anything in the dark,” Mica protested, even 
as she scoured the edge of a tray for fingerprints. She realized 
that would do Logan little good since fingerprint identification 
had yet to be invented. “There isn’t enough light to see 
anything.” 
She touched his shoulder, her voice gentle. “Come back to 
the house, Logan. It may not look so terrible in the morning.” 
He turned on her, eyes flashing fire as he shrugged off her 
touch. “That’s easy enough for you to say. You can go back to 
your nice, safe life and forget about us. I have to find a way to 
put food on the table and clothes on the backs of these people. 
I have responsibilities.” 
Devastated, Mica’s mouth dropped open as Logan ranted 
at her, then spun on his heel and stormed outside. She watched 
his rigid back until he became swallowed by the night. He had 
responsibilities—like she didn’t know what the word meant! 
Mica started to yell out to him, but she held her silence as she 
once again surveyed the insurmountable damage. 
Logan had every right to be angry—furious, in fact. She 
had been an available target for that anger, and she really 
couldn’t blame him for lashing out. If a disaster of such 
proportions had happened to her, she probably wouldn’t have 
been as nice about it. 
As she reflected on what he had said, she thought of a way 
to help him. She hurried down the aisle to the door, anxious to 
explain her plan. 
Mica found Logan leaning against a tree—their tree—his 
head bent, his shoulders slumped, and his hands stuffed into 
his pockets. 
Although he didn’t look up at her approach, he 
acknowledged her presence by saying, “I apologize for my 
behavior just now. I had no right to take my anger out on you.” 
His voice cracked, and Mica realized how hard it was for 
him. Not the apology, but the feeling that he somehow had 

failed to live up to his obligations. 
“Oh, Logan, this is not your fault. No one could have 
predicted something like this might happen. We just have to 
make it right.” She allowed a small amount of enthusiasm to 
enter her voice as her idea took concrete form in her head. 
“I’ve come up with a plan.” 
At least he raised his head to look at her, and she hurried 
on, hoping he wouldn’t take offense at her offer. “I can help. I 
have loads of money, and quite a few stocks that can be cashed 
in and...” His look stopped her in mid-sentence. 
“Loads of money? And how will that help me? We’ve 
already discovered that some things don’t travel through time 
very well.” He held his hands up in a gesture that encompassed 
himself. It was the first time he had actually admitted what had 
happened to them. 
Before Mica could respond, he added, “Have the notes of 
currency not changed over time? If so, they won’t come back 
to my time. And even if they did, the dates on your money 
alone would make them nonnegotiable.” 
Mica sighed. He was right. Even if she could bring 
truckloads of money back, his bank would consider it some 
kind of hoax. 
Logan pushed away from the tree, stuffing his hands once 
more into his pockets. He turned away from her, staring back 
at the drying shed, where lights still flickered as workers tried 
to clean up the mess. 
She tucked her arm through his, resting her head on his 
shoulder. This time, he didn’t shrug her away, and Mica was 
glad she could offer him this comfort, at least. 
“This plantation is my life. It’s not just pride in producing 
a product for which the world clamors. It’s knowing I can take 
care of the people who depend on me.” 
“Didn’t you say there would be another harvest?” Mica 
tried to find something positive to say, though the outlook 
appeared extremely bleak. 
“A harvest which won’t occur until mid-September, and 
dye not ready for market until after the first of the year.” He 
snorted. “And that does not take into account the field which 

burned. Those plants won’t produce this year.” He shook his 
head. “Unless I can find backers to finance me through another 
season, I will lose the island. Ezra, Arthur and their families 
will become slaves elsewhere—their freedom papers don’t 
mean much on the mainland.” 
“There must be a way.” 
“Michaela, there’s no market for indigo cakes crushed to 
powder.” 
“Powder?” Mica thought of all the instant food like 
powdered milk, Jell-O, pudding, and other dissolvable materials 
like laundry detergent. “Why not sell it that way?” Her question 
was met with raised eyebrows and an incredulous stare. 
“Are you crazy? The Indigo Bay stamp is our reputation— 
the seal of quality on our product. Do you realize what a 
laughing stock I would be if I tried such a scheme?” He turned 
to walk away, but Mica wouldn’t let it rest. 
“Didn’t you say it had to be dissolved with alcohol, 
anyway?” 
“Alkaline.” 
“Whatever. By having it already crushed, it would dissolve 
easier and save the textile manufacturers’ time.” 
“You’re forgetting our trademark. How would anyone know 
it was our indigo, or dye at all? And how would it be sold—in 
an open barrel to blow away with the slightest wind?” 
Mica could tell by the tone of his voice how desperately 
he wanted to believe in her plan. She thought of the cardboard 
boxes so many items came in, but doubted they had been 
invented. 
“Tins?” 
“There’s no time to find anything of the quantity we would 
need. Besides, the stamp—” 
“I know, I know—the Good Housekeeping Seal of 
Approval.” Did he have to refute every idea she had? 
“Good Housekeeping what?” 
She ignored his question. “I’ve got it! You stated once that 
your island also produced cloth, dyed with your indigo, right?” 
“Yes, but—” 
“Why couldn’t we make cloth bags to be filled with indigo 

powder? It would be weighed and sold just as it always is, 
only already crushed and ready to use.” Before he could argue 
with her again, she continued. “Is there any reason you couldn’t 
take the same Indigo Bay imprint used on the cakes and stamp 
it on the cloth with the dye itself? Sort of a stencil?” 
“There’s less than a week to market.” 
“Logan, come on. Are you going to give up when people 
depend on you? When your reputation is at stake?” 
He grinned wryly at the words she threw back in his face. 
“It would be an incredible amount of work—round the clock 
with everyone helping.” 
“If all the people on Indigo Bay have a stake in what 
becomes of the island, don’t you think they will want to help?” 
He grabbed her in a rough embrace, kissed her soundly, 
then let loose and shouted across the yard, “Ezra, gather 
everybody to the drying shed right away. And I mean everyone! 
We have work to do.” 
To Mica he added, “Go to the house and tell Mattie and 
Simon what’s to be done. Gather all the sewing materials you 
can, and bring everyone back with you except Annie and Lana. 
Annie’s to start cooking—lots of food—with Lana to help her. 
We’ll be too busy to stop for any length of time, but the workers 
will need to be fed.” 
He turned towards the shed, then stopped. “Once you’ve 
set the house staff to their tasks, send Simon out to the stables. 
We’re going to need the stable master’s and groom’s help, too.” 
As the sun rose to light the area around the drying and 
weaving sheds, lanterns were extinguished one by one, but no 
one stopped long enough to enjoy the sunrise. Logan had 
divided the workers into groups, each with a different task. 
The men carefully scooped the indigo from the trays and 
collected as much as they could from the floor. They crushed 
then sifted it through screens to eliminate any particles of wood 
left from the destruction and to insure uniformity. Using large 
barrels and tubs—anything they could find—they stored the 
hundreds of pounds of crushed indigo, until the sacks were 
ready for packaging. 
In the weaving shed, the process took longer, and Mica 

wondered if they would have everything ready when needed. 
Taking cloth which had been ready to dye, Logan showed the 
women how to lay it out, estimating the size they would need 
to hold quantities of indigo. The imprint stamps, normally in 
the house for safekeeping, had been brought down, and using 
dye set aside for the cloth, Logan dipped the stamp, then applied 
it to the sparkling white cloth. 
“It works,” he stated, almost as though he hadn’t expected 
it to. Mica was glad to hear his voice hold some of his old 
enthusiasm once again. 
“Of course,” she replied. “Now go see to the men. We’ll 
manage here.” 
Without waiting to see if he followed her advice, she 
divided the women into groups—some to cut and stamp the 
material, the rest to begin the arduous task of hand sewing the 
sides, leaving the top open until the indigo had been poured in. 
Knowing the impossibility of sewing shut the hundreds of bags 
once they had been filled, she found a coil of thin rope and 
instructed some of the younger boys to begin cutting it into 
one-foot lengths. 
Logan stood at the door, unable for the moment to continue 
back to the drying shed. He watched Michaela absently tuck a 
strand of hair behind her ear as she bent to speak softly to one 
of the older women. 
She had done it again—turned his world from topsy-turvy 
back to some semblance of normality. While he had serious 
doubts that the indigo would sell in its present state, he couldn’t 
help being infected by her enthusiasm. As she had pointed out, 
he had to try. At this point he had nothing to lose. 
A chuckle escaped when he looked down to find she stood 
barefoot, her skirts not quite reaching her ankles. A most 
unconventional woman, his Michaela Marie, willing to sacrifice 
anything to insure he succeeded. A sigh escaped as he turned 
away. He could do no less and had best get after it. 
Everyone on the plantation—from the youngest child to 
the old folks who usually sat in the shade all day—worked 
tirelessly. Logan would periodically send a group back to their 
cabins to sleep, and he caught a catnap under the tree now and 

then. But for the most part he never ventured far from either 
building. There had been no sign of further trouble, but as 
insurance, he had sealed off the island, posting a guard at the 
only road to the mainland. 
Logan wanted no intrusions or interruptions. Nor did he 
want word of their endeavors leaking out before market day. 
He would have the element of surprise if he could present a 
new product on that day, without a lot of hearsay and suspicion 
circulating among the buyers prior to the auction. 
The only one to give him any trouble was Michaela, who 
refused to go to the house to rest. If she wasn’t instructing a 
new group of women, she had several bags in her lap and was 
bent over the cloth with a needle and thread. He glanced over 
to the tree to find her there again, sitting cross-legged, the indigo 
bags scattered around her. He started to turn back to his work, 
but something stopped him. 
He watched for several minutes before he realized what 
had caught his attention, and then he laughed outright. Several 
men stopped what they were doing to stare at him, but he didn’t 
care. Love swelled in his heart as he strolled towards the tree, 
still chuckling. 
Squatting down in front of Michaela, he gently removed 
the needle and bag she clutched in her hands, then tugged on 
her shoulders until she tilted sideways to lay upon the ground. 
“Not now Logan, I have work to do,” she murmured, not 
aware she had fallen asleep sitting up. 
“Shh, rest now, sweet one. There will still be plenty to do 
when you wake.” She never even opened her eyes, and it took 
several minutes before the mist cleared Logan’s own eyes 
enough to see her. 
*** 
Mica woke to a gentle shake of her shoulder. It took her 
eyes some time to focus in the absence of light. When she 
realized where she was, she jerked upright, searching her lap 
for the bags she had brought outside to stitch. 
“They’re already done, sweetheart. Don’t fret.” Logan 
plunked down beside her, stretching his long legs as he leaned 
against the tree. “We’re finished. Now, we’ll see what kind of 

lawyer I am. I must convince a jury of my peers and indigo 
buyers that I’m not ready for the loony bin.” 
He closed his eyes, tilting his head back against the rough 
bark of the tree, and Mica studied his profile. Even in the dusk 
before nightfall, she could see the tired lines around his eyes, 
the creases at the corners of his mouth. She leaned into him, 
gently kissing the edge of his lips, then up along his cheek to 
his eyes, hoping to smooth the worry lines. 
“Ah, Michaela, ever the soothsayer.” As he spoke, he 
circled her waist with his strong arms and pulled her onto his 
lap. His hungry kiss ignited fires in her, and for a moment she 
forgot where they were. Only when she heard laughter a short 
distance away did she recall their circumstances. 
Flushing deeply, she pulled away. “Logan, what will people 
think?” 
He laughed as he jumped up, pulling her to her feet. 
“They’ll think the master of Indigo Bay is in love with the 
beautiful woman who has crazy ideas.” He tugged her along 
the path, past the tired workers. As they walked, everyone 
waved or applauded, and Mica’s cheeks flamed hotter. 
“You didn’t tell them it was my idea, did you?” 
“Of course. Do you want them to think I’m crazy?” 
She swung at him, and he laughed, racing off down the 
path towards the ocean. When he disappeared around a bend, 
Mica hesitated. The sun had set, casting the path in shadows, 
and she tentatively stepped away from the shrubs onto the sand. 
“Logan?” She called into the darkness. 
“Right here.” 
He grabbed her from behind, and she squealed, her heart 
pounding from the fright. Just as quickly, it gave way to a 
different beat as Logan nibbled on her neck, munching his way 
to her ear. 
“You did a fine job these past days. You worked harder 
than anyone, refusing to give up—refusing to let me give up, 
and I shall be eternally grateful.” 
His tongue tickled her ear, but when Mica tried to turn 
around, his embrace tightened, holding her back flat against 
him. 

“Say you’ll stay here with me always, Michaela, to share 
my life and have my children.” His voice pleaded with her as 
he spoke the unspeakable. 
Instead of answering him, Mica hedged. “I’m twenty-nine. 
That’s too old to have children.” 
“You’re how old?” Logan released her, his voice 
incredulous. 
“You knew that. Don’t make it sound like I’m ... I’m...” 
Mica was at a loss for words. 
“On the shelf? An old maid? A spinster?” Logan readily 
supplied a choice of adjectives, laughter apparent in his voice 
as he slowly stepped away from her. 
“Yes...no,” she sputtered, reaching out to smack him, even 
though she knew he was only teasing her. 
Spinning around, he raced down the beach, and Mica 
chased after him. Their laughter carried across the waves, and 
when Logan slowed so she could catch him, she wrestled him 
to the ground, determined to show him she was not a spinster 
yet. 
They tore at each other’s clothes in their haste to be shed 
of them. Splashing into the gentle waves that washed upon the 
shore, Logan loved her so tenderly she wanted to cry. She knew 
she had to tell him her time here was over. Though her heart 
broke, she owed it to her father to return as she had promised. 
After all, she was a responsible adult. 
As though Logan sensed her heartache, he didn’t speak as 
they dressed. When she tried to talk, he admonished her to 
silence once again by saying, “Don’t, Michaela. Not just yet. I 
have something to show you.” 
Hand in hand, he led her up the path to the house, but then 
veered toward the garden. Just as they rounded the corner a 
full moon appeared, casting a mellow light across the flower 
beds. 
“They delivered this just today, and I meant to surprise 
you. But in the midst of the rest of the turmoil, the workmen 
grew careless and knocked it over, breaking his hand. As soon 
as things calm down, I’ll have it replaced.” 
His voice was anxious, and at first Mica didn’t understand 

why. Then he turned her around, and her gaze fell on the statue, 
newly erected in the center of the garden. 
Cupid! Tears sprang instantly to her eyes. She was the 
woman for whom Cupid had been commissioned. 
“I was so angry,” Logan growled. “I wanted it to be perfect, 
as you are. And it shall be, as soon—” 
“No. I love it just as it is.” 
“But he has no bow and arrows—no hand, either, for that 
matter.” 
Mica couldn’t express her emotions at that moment. Could 
it be there was a way to make dreams come true? She dared 
not breathe a word, for fear the fairy-tale of her childhood would 
turn into a nightmare. 
Logan circled her shoulders, pulling her close to his chest. 
“It matters not that Cupid lost his love arrows. My heart has 
already been captured by the most wonderful woman in the 
world, and my love will be hers throughout all time.” 
Over the past month, Logan had taught Mica to live each 
day to the fullest, never looking back at what could not be 
changed. Their love had grown beyond anything she could have 
imagined. She only wished she had more time. 
Mica turned in his arms. “Oh, Logan, please, tell me what 
to do.” She searched his face, trying to find an answer to their 
dilemma in the depth of his gaze. Once decisive and so sure of 
herself, Mica felt she would never be the same again. 
“I can’t make that decision for you.” He kissed the top of 
her head, and she hugged him closer. “I can only tell you what 
is in my heart.” 
He placed her palm against his chest, the strong beat of his 
heart pulsing through her fingers. Her eyes brimmed with tears, 
but he sadly shook his head. 
“I love you, Michaela Marie, with my very heart and soul. 
You have become my world, around which my happiness and 
hope revolve. I will love you until the moon and stars are forever 
gone—until I’m old and stooped and they carry me to my grave. 
All the riches in the world can’t compare to the wealth of love 
I have to give you. But more than that, I cannot do.” 
Logan didn’t allow Mica further tears. He took her upstairs 

to his bed, where his caresses and kisses and tender loving 
carried her slowly on an exquisite journey through passion that 
made time stand still. 
*** 
Now, hours later, Mica stood at the window, gazing out at 
the statue of Cupid, shimmering silver in the moonlight. No 
matter what she wanted—no matter how desperately—she 
knew time had run out. 
“Logan?” She turned back to where he lay sprawled on 
her bed, hair tousled, the sheet barely covering his hips. He 
reached a hand out to her, but she shook her head, fearing her 
courage would fail if she touched him. His hand dropped back 
to the bed, and he waited in silence. 
She wasn’t sure where to begin. “I came to Sea Crest for a 
vacation when my divorce was final. I chose to leave Richard, 
but even so, I was shattered. I lost court cases I shouldn’t have. 
I forgot important appointments. I was a mess.” She shrugged 
as though to make light of the situation, but she now realized 
she had been on the verge of a breakdown. 
“I guess it was fortuitous that Aunt Theo left me Sea Crest, 
because coming to the inn no doubt saved my sanity.” 
“You’re far from ready for an asylum.” He scooted up 
against the headboard as he spoke, his gaze intent on her face 
as he listened to her story. 
“You didn’t know me before.” 
“That’s all in the past, Michaela. It doesn’t matter now 
that you’re here with me.” 
“But that’s the problem. I have to go, don’t you see? It’s 
my life.” 
In a deceptively soft voice, he countered her statement by 
saying, “What about our life, Michaela? What about me?” 
“What do you expect me to do?” She placed her hands 
over her face and sobbed into them, trembling already from 
his loss. She had no answers, unless she could convince him to 
come with her. 
She looked up as he swung his legs over the side of the 
bed. “You could come with me,” she pleaded, desperate. 
“Logan, there’s going to be a terrible war here. Thousands of 

lives—” 
At her mention of the future, he sprang from the bed and 
came to her. Gently, he placed his fingers against her lips, his 
other hand circling her arm. “I don’t want you to predict the 
future. If you’re not here to share it with me, it won’t matter.” 
“Come with me,” she begged. 
He caressed her cheek, his eyes full of sorrow. “I don’t 
belong in your world, Michaela Marie. You saw what happened 
to me when I went there with you. I can’t share your life and 
all its wonders.” 
“There must be a way.” 
This time he roughly pulled her into his embrace. His hot 
lips found hers before she could protest, his tongue delving 
deep to wash away her pleas. 
“Does that feel like a specter’s caress?” he whispered 
raggedly when he pulled away from the kiss. His hands slid 
over her back to her buttocks, pulling her hard against his 
arousal. “Is this a phantom’s passion? In your world, that’s all 
I am—a ghost.” 
“It’s just not fair.” 
Logan tugged her hand to take her back to bed. “Not much 
in life is fair. But we have time yet, and we’ll find a way.” 
Mica’s heart broke as she resisted. 
“No, you don’t understand. My father gave me a month to 
get my life straightened out. One month. Then I had to go back 
to work.” Tears obscured her vision, but she had already 
memorized his face for when she would no longer be in his 
arms. 
“My month is up—tomorrow.” 

Twelve
Despondent, Mica pulled her knees close to her chest and, 
with a sigh, rested her chin upon them. She had curled up in 
the window seat of Katie’s living room to stare unseeing out 
the window. Rain whipped through the trees and pounded the 
already saturated earth. The dismal weather perfectly reflected 
her mood. 
“They say another tropical storm is brewing, but indications 
are it won’t touch land,” Katie commented from the sofa. 
“Mmmm.” 
“Mica, listen to me.” Her friend’s voice held the 
exasperated tone she’d used in their youth when Mica would 
rather study than party. She knew what Katie would say even 
before she spoke. “You’ve got to pull yourself together. If it 
didn’t work out with Logan, it didn’t work out. You’ve moped 
around for over a week, and it’s just not going to change 
anything.” 
Another tumultuous sigh escaped as Mica tried to pull 
herself from the emotional stupor that engulfed her on a daily 
basis. She cried readily—had even broken down in court 
yesterday, and the judge had been put out. She couldn’t eat. 
She didn’t sleep. 
Her father was ready to send her to a psychiatrist, but her 
mother had convinced him it would be bad for the family name. 
Even her best friend was apparently at her wit’s end. 
“Oh, Katie, you don’t understand. I just left—sneaked off 
in the middle of the night—without a word. I couldn’t help 
him, and I couldn’t face him.” 
Mica recalled Logan’s face in slumber, the worry lines from 
days past smoothing out. How she loved him! Even as she had 

tiptoed down the hall, her heart kept calling her back to his 
side. 
She had never quite figured out what Aunt Theo had meant 
when she asked Mica to help him. She had tried to help, 
convincing Logan the crushed indigo would sell. Now, she 
feared she had messed things up royally by falling in love with 
him. 
As if reading her mind, Katie asked, “If you’re that much 
in love with the guy, why couldn’t you work things out? Does 
it really matter if your father doesn’t approve of him?” 
When Mica had shown up on Katie’s doorstep in tears, 
she had only said that she had left him because of her father 
and responsibilities. After all, how could she explain falling in 
love with a man who had lived more than a century before? 
Katie hadn’t asked any questions. She just fed Mica hot tea as 
if that would fix all her problems. 
Mica chewed nervously on a fingernail. Even after a week 
back in Charleston, she still feared crossing the time line had 
jumbled things beyond her understanding. By venturing into 
the past, she felt she had irrevocably changed hers or Logan’s 
destiny. 
“Mica, you’re doing it again.” 
“What?” 
“Twisting that key and ribbon you’ve been wearing around 
your neck.” 
She glanced down, not aware of the habit she had acquired 
since returning to Charleston. She had convinced herself that 
she’d brought the key from Sea Crest to keep the nosy Barkers 
or the crazy professor from finding out about the passage. 
However, in the dark of night as she sobbed into her pillow, 
she clutched the key to her heart, hoping it would bring her 
closer to Logan. 
“While that necklace might be considered quaint, in an 
antique sort of way, it hardly matches your outfit.” 
Today Mica had come to Katie’s straight from court. Her 
tailored brown suit and ruffled blouse were the latest fashion. 
She wiggled her stocking-clad feet, more comfortable now than 
in her heels, but she’d rather be barefoot in the sand at Indigo 

Bay. 
God, there she went again. Everything in her present world 
still reminded her of 1850. She twirled the key around her finger. 
Katie stood beside the window seat. “Let me see that.” 
Mica relinquished her grasp on the key, but refused to 
remove the ribbon from around her neck. 
“You know,” Katie continued, “if you had the key gold 
plated and put it on a gold chain, it wouldn’t look quite 
so...scruffy.” 
“I don’t think so,” Mica said, retrieving the key. “Besides, 
it has sentimental value, not monetary.” 
Katie shrugged. “Well, it couldn’t hurt, sentimental or not. 
After all, gold never loses its value.” 
“Gold?” Mica swung around, her heels thumping against 
the base of the window seat. Why hadn’t she thought of that? 
She was a corporate lawyer versed in international trade and 
had a portfolio worth thousands. Yet she hadn’t even thought 
of the one method of exchange used internationally—and 
throughout the past. 
She jumped off her perch and headed for the door. “Where’s 
Matthew?” 
“Well, it’s an hour prior to dinner on Monday. That means 
he’s in the study reading the New York Times.” 
Mica didn’t wait for her friend to accompany her to the 
study. They didn’t stand on formality at each other’s homes. 
Racing from the room, she pounded on the study door then 
burst in before Matthew had acknowledged her knock. 
“Matthew, you’ve got to help.” 
Katie’s husband looked up from the paper he perused, then 
leisurely set it aside. He didn’t seem the least concerned that 
Mica stood shouting at him across the width of his desk. When 
Katie rushed into the room behind her, he did tilt his head 
sideways to give her a wink. 
A month ago, Mica would have made some facetious 
remark about their behavior, because they were still very much 
in love. Her views on that subject, however, had changed 
radically over the course of just a few weeks. 
She paced back and forth, clasping her hands first in front 

of her, then behind her back. She tried to put into words the 
outrageous plan she had concocted to help Logan. Thrilled to 
finally have a course of action, she didn’t want Matthew and 
Katie to think she had slipped off the deep end. Spinning around, 
she took a breath to calm herself. 
“I want you to liquidate my stocks and bonds—all of them.” 
That was easy enough. 
Apparently Matthew didn’t think so. He glanced from one 
woman to the other, a frown crinkling his forehead. Katie just 
shrugged her shoulders. 
“You want your entire portfolio turned into cash?” 
“Not cash. Gold.” 
Matthew came around the corner of his desk, hands in the 
air in a placating gesture. “Now wait a minute.” To Katie he 
said, “I thought you said she was getting better?” 
Mica had to laugh. “Surely you two have better things to 
do than discuss my mental health.” 
She began pacing again, energy flowing and revitalizing 
her. She wanted to do this. She needed to help Logan so 
desperately it scared her. The feeling of being on a crusade 
gave her a rush of adrenaline like she used to feel when she 
first became an attorney. Before the disillusionment and 
frustration and disappointment. 
She had acquired a fair-sized portfolio. Converting it to 
gold would ensure Logan had the money he needed to see him 
through any hard times. Then it wouldn’t matter if this year’s 
crop sold well at market or not. 
“Why on Earth would you want gold?” Matthew 
questioned, bringing her back to their discussion. 
“I just need it, that’s all. Since when did you become so 
inquisitive?” Mica countered. 
“Since you asked for over one hundred thousand dollars’ 
worth of stocks be converted to gold, that’s when.” Matthew 
threw up his hands in exasperation. 
“Can it be done?” 
“Of course it can be done. Any restrictions on buying gold 
were lifted in 1972. That’s not the point.” 
“Then what is the point?” 

“You’ll gain no interest by converting everything, and you’ll 
run the risk of government questioning.” 
“Why would the government have any say in what I do 
with my money?” 
“If you try taking that much cash into Castle & Noble 
Investment House to get gold, believe me, the government will 
want to know why.” 
“That’s ridiculous. It’s not like I’m laundering money.” 
Mica’s short temper began to stir. 
“But the government doesn’t know that. When that much 
gold is purchased, they won’t look at your impeccable 
credentials as an attorney. The law requires paperwork on any 
cash transactions to gold over ten thousand dollars.” 
“How long would I have to wait after I complete the 
papers?” 
“Oh, you wouldn’t have to wait at all. The Investment 
House would give you the gold on the spot, but you’d have 
official-looking people at your door within twenty-four hours.” 
“I don’t care. Just do it,” Mica stated, crossing her arms 
over her chest in a gesture of finality. 
“Mica, look. Katie says you’ve been under a lot of stress 
lately. Perhaps you should think about this.” 
“I am not stressed out,” Mica shouted at him, then slapped 
a hand against her mouth. She couldn’t believe she had 
screeched like that. 
“Katie, talk to her.” Matthew turned away to pour a drink 
from the sideboard. He could be a sweetheart, and Katie loved 
him dearly, but Mica couldn’t stomach his chauvinistic attitude. 
He, and many men she knew, thought a woman was stressed 
out if she had a single idea of her own and it didn’t agree with 
theirs. 
Katie turned to her, rolling her eyes upward, and Mica put 
up her hand. 
“Okay. You might as well know the real reason behind this 
madness. Although Matthew has politely refrained from saying 
so, I know that’s what he’s thinking.” She sighed. She would 
tell them about Logan, and if Matthew didn’t haul her away to 
the loony bin, he’d get her the gold. 

For the next hour, Mica recapped her month with Logan. 
She tried to explain the time warp, how desperately Logan 
needed the money to help his people, and her love for a man 
who didn’t exist in their century. 
“Oh, Mica, how very, very romantic. I never would have 
thought it.” Katie was the first to find her voice when Mica 
stopped talking. 
“Bullshit,” Matthew exploded. “That’s the most absurd, 
ridiculous...Mica, if you’re doing drugs, as your friends, it’s 
our duty to see you get help.” 
“That’s enough, Matthew,” Mica snapped. “I didn’t tell 
you to gain your approval, or your belief. I told you because...” 
She looked from husband to wife. Katie’s eyes were brimming, 
and Mica truly didn’t know whether she believed her or not. 
“Katie?” 
Katie walked over and clasped Mica’s hands, squeezing 
them almost to the point of pain. She turned to her husband, 
and in a voice filled with awe and perhaps fright, said, “She’s 
not on drugs, Matthew. Her Logan was in the room the entire 
time I visited with her. I kept thinking I heard voices down the 
hall, but it must have been him.” She turned teary eyes to Mica. 
“And...I felt his presence.” 
Mica gasped. “Why didn’t you say something?” 
Katie gave a nervous laugh. “For exactly the same reason 
you didn’t. Matthew would have put me away.” She glanced 
fondly at her husband. “In country club style, of course, but 
still ‘off to the funny farm.’” 
“I don’t believe this.” Matthew couldn’t, or wouldn’t, take 
their word for what had happened. 
Mica knelt down beside the sofa on which he had dropped. 
Clasping his hands, she spoke earnestly. “Listen, I’ll 
compromise with you. Get me the gold, and by—” she paused, 
not sure she could make the time table she wanted. “—by next 
Monday, if I haven’t accomplished what I need to, I’ll put it all 
back into your trusting hands.” 
“What about the Internal Revenue?” 
“To hell with the government. It’s my money. Besides, if I 
can get it to Logan, there won’t be any trace of it for them to 

worry about.” 
“That’s just the problem, Mica. How will you explain where 
it went?” She knew he felt justified in asking her questions, 
even if he wouldn’t be directly involved. 
“Let me worry about that. After all, if need be, I know a 
good lawyer.” She gave him a smile. Probably the first real 
smile she had managed since leaving Indigo Bay. 
Matthew capitulated. “All right, give me until Friday.” 
“Wednesday.” Now that she had a plan, she didn’t want to 
wait any longer than necessary. 
“That’s only two days. I’m not sure it can be done.” 
“You said my stocks could be cashed on the spot.” 
“But the market might not be good.” 
Mica threw up her hands. “Matthew, it doesn’t matter. I 
want my money, however much there is of it. Let’s compromise. 
I’ll give you until Thursday.” 
Mica and Katie left Matthew to his brooding. Katie tried 
to persuade her to stay, but she declined. 
“I’m in court again tomorrow. As much as I hate this 
particular case, I still should go home and review my briefs.” 
Katie gave her a hug. “At least you’re not a criminal lawyer. 
I’d hate the thought of you associating with hardened felons 
and murderers.” 
“Well, as far as I’m concerned, sometimes the best dressed 
businessmen are just as bad.” Mica replied, then changed the 
subject as they reached the front door. “Katie, did you really 
see, I mean feel, Logan, or were you just saying that to help me 
out with Matthew?” 
Katie smiled as she answered. “I thought I was imagining 
things, but yes, I definitely felt him.” 
“But you couldn’t see him?” 
“No, but I’m sure he’s just as wonderful and handsome as 
you say. Besides, he’s got to be something special to bring 
such a smile to your face.” 
Mica hugged her. “He is.” 
“Well, I hope so. After all, you wouldn’t give Richard 
another penny, and here you are giving away a fortune!” 
Mica laughed with Katie as she kissed her good-bye, but 

on the drive back to her apartment she thought about what her 
friend had said. 
Why had she decided to give Logan all her money when 
that had been a major rift in her relationship with Richard? 
Soft brown eyes came to mind, the corners crinkled in laughter. 
Other images intruded—Logan fighting the nasty Mr. Jacobs 
when he beat up a child, Logan working harder than anyone to 
put out fires and repackage the indigo. The list could go on 
and on. 
Mica knew he didn’t do it for himself, although he was 
proud of his accomplishments. He did what he needed to protect 
what had been left in his care—the island, the people—her. 
She cried herself to sleep that night, but for the first time 
since her return, it was a cleansing cry, not one of self-pity. 
She felt good about what she had to do, and she didn’t care if 
she had to work another fifty years to regain her stock options. 
She had no use for the money, anyway, so she might as well 
ensure Logan’s success. 
The next two days proved extremely stressful. Not only 
did Mica worry about Matthew’s progress, but her current case 
left her wondering why she had become an attorney. 
Seaboard Enterprises had always been a reputable client 
until now. They were one of the largest corporations in 
Charleston, and she had conducted mergers and international 
trade agreements on their behalf. Then sexual harassment 
charges were filed against the company and Samuel Clancy, 
an employee. Her father hadn’t allowed her to transfer this 
case to a subordinate. 
Samuel Clancy was guilty—had as much as confessed— 
but she couldn’t betray a client’s confidence. She came home 
from court feeling soiled and used, and she stood in the shower 
long minutes to wash away the emotional dirt. 
By Wednesday evening she had reached the end of her 
endurance. She shut off the phone the minute she walked into 
the apartment. She didn’t even want to hear the answering 
machine. After her shower, she pulled on soft, silk pajamas 
and uncorked a bottle of wine. Curling up in a chair by the 
window, she tried to clear her mind as rain battered the 

windows. 
More rain. The coast should be out of the hurricane season 
by now, but the weather bureau still predicted the current 
tropical storm would intensify by the weekend. It was probably 
a good thing she intended to visit Sea Crest, just to make sure 
things were secure. Although she didn’t have any plans to sell 
the place or to live there, she still had the responsibility for its 
upkeep. 
The bottle clinked against her crystal glass as she refilled 
it. A glass of wine normally calmed her nerves and helped her 
relax, but for whatever reason, it didn’t work tonight. A 
disquieting shroud engulfed her, and it had nothing to do with 
her current case. Something gnawed at her from the inside— 
something intangible but still making its presence felt. 
“In-two-three-four-five,” Mica breathed deeply. “Out-two-
three-four-five.” Her counselor had taught her the breathing 
exercise. Usually it worked. Tonight it didn’t. 
Nothing worked. Half a bottle of wine later, she crawled 
into bed, determined to sleep. When she closed her eyes, 
Logan’s countenance came immediately to view, and Mica 
contented herself with thoughts of him. She had visualized 
several scenarios for giving him the gold, but each ended with 
her leaving him. Each time with more heartache than the last. 
She finally decided she must go to the other side during 
the day, when he would be gone. She would leave him a note, 
of course, but she didn’t think she could bear to see him. She 
buried her face in her pillow, hoping to dream of him, as she 
did every night, knowing her dreams were all she had. 
*** 
“Thursday, the thirteenth day of September, two thousand 
one. The Court of the State of South Carolina is hereby in 
session. Case number 560-483, Melissa Reynolds vs. Samuel 
Clancy and Seaboard Enterprises,” the bailiff intoned in a dry, 
hollow voice. 
The judge’s gavel pounded in the silence as though it 
hammered directly on Mica’s brain. She stood beside her clients. 
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” 
“Yes, Your Honor, we have. The jury finds in the case of 

the defendant, Samuel Clancy, not guilty on all charges. In the 
case of the codefendant, Seaboard Enterprises, not guilty on 
all charges.” 
“The Court of the State of South Carolina thanks the jury 
for their verdict and their time, and they are now dismissed. 
This court stands adjourned.” The gavel pounded again. 
Mica snapped her briefcase shut with a sigh. She had 
nothing to say to her client, who stood there with a huge macho 
smile, as though he expected her to be happy with the verdict. 
How could she be, when she knew beyond any reasonable doubt 
he was guilty as charged? 
Hell, the bastard had propositioned her more times than 
she could count, and in his firm’s corporate boardroom, no 
less, when she had to see him on business. In her mind, his 
employers, Seaboard Enterprises, were just as guilty for backing 
his claim of innocence. 
She recalled her visit with the plaintiff, Melissa Reynolds, 
in the process of trying to negotiate a settlement. She wasn’t a 
headliner. She hadn’t been out to create a scandal or to climb 
the corporate ladder. She had only wanted her executive position 
and the right to work in a harassment-free atmosphere. Now, 
she had neither, because the company would find some way to 
eliminate her position and thereby dispose of the unobliging 
Ms. Reynolds. 
Mica should be happy that she had accomplished her job. 
She had removed the blemish from Seaboard’s corporate image, 
and the exorbitant fee she would charge them for doing so would 
be paid without a quiver of conscience on their part. Mica 
tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and turned to leave 
the courtroom. 
“Let me buy you a drink, Michaela.” The touch on her arm 
drew goose bumps. 
“Mr. Clancy, my name is Ms. Chadwick. And no, I do not 
care to drink with you.” Or ever see your lecherous face again, 
she longed to add, yet knew she couldn’t. “You’ll receive a 
statement from our firm.” 
Her cool remarks dismissed him as surely as her rigid back. 
She turned to her secretary, Suzy, who had just hurried into the 

courtroom, and she welcomed the interruption. 
“Ms. Taylor called twice, but since her case is in settlement, 
I told her you would be in contact and she needn’t call back.” 
Mica quickened her pace. She didn’t care about Helen 
Taylor. She didn’t even care about winning again. She had an 
inexplicable urge to get as far away from Charleston as possible. 
Right now. Her breathing quickened. Her determination to leave 
was so intense she didn’t catch the deliberate pause in her 
secretary’s recitation until they stepped into the elevator. 
“Well, what is it you don’t want to tell me?” One glance at 
Suzy’s face, and Mica knew the answer even before the other 
woman spoke. 
“Richard called.” 
“Damn!” The elevator doors opened on a rush of humanity, 
precluding further discussion until they walked into the 
underground parking lot. Mica wasn’t about to ask for 
particulars, but Suzy proceeded to tell her anyway. 
“He wanted an appointment. When I told him I didn’t 
schedule your personal matters, he said this was business.” 
“I told him two weeks ago I wouldn’t bail him out again. 
I’m already paying him plenty.” The mention of her ex-husband 
still fueled Mica’s anger. So much so, she jammed the wrong 
key into the car’s lock. The high-pitched screech of the alarm 
obscured the remainder of the not-so-polite adjectives she used 
to describe him. 
She took a deep breath, held it for the count of five, then 
slowly exhaled. Her hands shook too hard to remove the key. 
Without a word, Suzy took over, inserting the correct key to 
open the door, and then punching the alarm button. The instant 
quiet soothed Mica’s nerves. She dropped her chin to her chest 
and closed her eyes for an instant. 
“Cancel or reschedule tomorrow’s appointments.” She 
tossed her briefcase onto the back seat of the Cougar as she 
gave instructions to her ever-faithful secretary. “I’m driving to 
Sea Crest, but under no circumstances are you to tell anyone 
where I am.” She didn’t have to say who anyone meant. She 
slid behind the wheel, but didn’t start the engine. Suzy was 
probably the only person who had any idea what Mica had 

gone through the past six months. 
“Thanks, Suzy. You’ll never know...” 
“Yeah, I do.” Suzy grinned and gave her arm a pat. 
*** 
By the time Mica crossed town, Matthew had left for the 
day, making her wait until the following morning to receive a 
cashier’s check for her stocks. Disregarding his arguments that 
she wait until he completed the sale of her blue chip stocks, 
she took what he had managed to convert and raced back across 
town to Castle & Noble Investment House. Matthew had called 
ahead, and they were expecting her. 
Panic had seized her yesterday outside the courthouse, and 
she felt compelled to hurry up the coast as fast as possible. 
The restlessness she had felt the night before descended on her 
with a vengeance. She couldn’t explain it, but she didn’t doubt 
it had something to do with Logan. 
They asked no questions at Castle & Noble, for which she 
was grateful. She signed the necessary papers as they counted 
out her gold in American Eagles. Even dated, the gold coins 
would travel through time and Mica figured she could worry 
about melting it down later. Given the current price of three-
hundred-ninety dollars per troy ounce, she left with a briefcase 
containing only seventeen pounds of twenty-four carat gold. 
She didn’t know how much purchasing power the gold 
would have in 1850, but she figured it would be a lot more 
than today, considering the inflation they experienced. It really 
didn’t matter. The gold would help see Logan and his people 
through this year’s rough times, at least. 
Mica turned north onto Highway 17. There was no reason 
to stop at her apartment. She had clothes at Sea Crest, and 
didn’t plan on staying long, anyway. What would happen after 
that she had no idea. She didn’t want to visualize her life at 
some later date, so she concentrated only on getting to Sea 
Crest before the storm hit. 
“Damn!” Mica slammed on the brakes as taillights in front 
of her blinked red. Traffic slowed to a stop, but with the rain 
beating against her windshield, even the wipers couldn’t help 
her see the cause. 

She jumped when a large hand knocked at her window. 
Rolling it down just enough to see out, she spied a yellowslickered 
highway patrolman, water running off the brim of 
his hat. 
“Sorry, ma’am, but we’re closing Highway 17 due to the 
storm. You’ll have to return to Charleston.” 
“But Officer, this highway is always open for evacuation. 
Besides, I have a home at Cameron, and I need to see that 
everything is boarded up.” A heaviness squeezed her heart, and 
she felt an even greater sense of urgency. 
“We have reports of gusty winds near the coast, and 
motorists are advised not to travel. We’re just trying to protect 
you, ma’am.” Mica could tell by his tone that the officer was 
in no mood to argue, but neither was she. 
She rolled up her window, made a U-turn as other cars 
were doing, and drove south. At the first intersection, she turned 
west. Having grown up in the area, she knew every back road 
and circular route, some of which weren’t even on a map. In a 
matter of minutes, she was again headed north through a 
residential area. 
She encountered very little traffic and no police. Apparently 
the highway patrol had focused their efforts on the main 
highways, which didn’t surprise her. In all the years she had 
lived through hurricanes, evacuation always occurred on the 
four-lane roads, not the county byways. 
She drove at a reasonable speed, not stopping at any of the 
little towns that crowded the highway. Visibility dropped to 
zero at times, compelling her to slow down to avoid going off 
onto the shoulder. When her hands cramped from gripping the 
steering wheel, she forced herself to relax, reaching down to 
flick the knob on her radio. 
A soothing melody coursed through her—a melody that 
reminded her of the time she and Logan had loved the night 
away in the music room. She could almost see him as he 
caressed the piano keys, his music wrapping her in warmth 
and love. 
Thomas Logan Rutledge. She recalled the many times he 
had praised her for helping him, and his unfailing faith in her 

ability and willingness to share in his life. She finally 
understood the turmoil of the last few weeks, especially after 
her day in court where she would rather have been on the losing 
side. 
While her clients paid their bills, they didn’t go out of their 
way to express their appreciation. Even her father took her for 
granted in terms of her efforts. He just expected her to win 
cases and negotiate international trade agreements because that 
was what she had been trained to do. 
Useless. That was exactly the word to describe her current 
life. Entrenched in the family law firm that specialized in 
corporate law and worked with only the largest corporations 
in Charleston, she didn’t feel she made any contribution to 
society. Especially when a scum like Samuel Clancy still had 
his job. 
Aggravation mounted as she mentally catalogued her dull, 
responsible life. She couldn’t say she had never felt needed, 
but lately that feeling had been replaced by dissatisfaction, not 
to mention boredom and restlessness. Yet she felt caught in a 
perpetual cycle from which she had no hope of extricating 
herself. 
The rain lessened, and Mica sped up, anxious to arrive at 
Sea Crest. She tried not to think about encountering Logan. 
Instead, she concentrated on the necessary precautions needed 
to take at the bed & breakfast, just in case this storm escalated 
in strength and moved up the coast. 
Static erupted on the radio, and she punched the button for 
another station. The song was cut short by the DJ’s voice. 
“It’s Friday, September fourteenth, and this is the latest 
bulletin from the National Hurricane Center. Hurricane Charley 
is expected to hit the South Carolina coast near Charleston late 
tonight or early tomorrow morning. Residents are advised to 
take necessary precautions and seek shelter inland.” 
Mica stomped on the accelerator. She had to get to Logan 
before the hurricane hit. If she didn’t… 
She didn’t let herself finish the thought, because she knew 
that if she didn’t get there in time, she might never see Logan 
again. 

Thirteen
Mica arrived at Sea Crest to find Anna firmly in control. 
Workmen had boarded up the windows and were just closing 
and latching the front shutters. Mica dropped her briefcase in 
the apartment, then went to check the food and water storage. 
Hopefully, Charley would veer out to sea and their supplies 
would not be necessary. 
“Did you reschedule the guests for flights home?” she asked 
Anna as they hurried through the house to the kitchen in search 
of flashlights. 
“Most of our reservations were up yesterday, and since 
flights have been canceled, our newest guests won’t arrive until 
after the storm has passed. That just leaves two rooms 
occupied.” 
“Two rooms—I thought you said everyone was out?” Mica 
didn’t want to be responsible for others during a storm. 
“The Barkers refused to leave, even though their time is 
up. Said they couldn’t get a flight out because of the storm, so 
they would just have to ride it out here.” 
“Oh, great. I suppose they’re hoping the storm blows the 
place down so it’ll be easier to search for their treasure.” 
Anna laughed with her, though Mica was hardly kidding. 
“Who else?” she asked. 
“The professor’s reservations aren’t up for another week, 
so he said he’d be glad to stay and keep me and the Barkers 
company.” 
Mica thought she detected a blush on Anna’s cheeks and 
wondered if she had an infatuation for the gray-haired professor. 
“Well, I suppose there’s nothing we can do about it now. 
Until a couple of hours ago, I really thought this storm would 

leave us alone. As long as our guests stay out of the way and 
observe the rules, we should be all right. After all, Sea Crest 
has weathered storms before. You have reviewed the rules with 
them, haven’t you?” 
“Yes, of course.” Anna ticked them off on her fingers, ”Stay 
on the main floor away from the windows, leave the TV and 
radio turned to the weather channel, and ration food and water.” 
“Good. I’ll leave you to see to our guests. I need to make 
sure all is secure in my apartment.” Using that excuse, Mica 
hurried down the hall. She must get the gold upstairs before 
the weather worsened. 
She dumped her aunt’s jewelry from a small wooden chest 
onto the bed. Flipping open the latches on her briefcase, she 
began unrolling the gold American Eagles and dumping them 
into the box. Regardless of whether paper would time travel, 
she didn’t want Logan to see the telltale signs of modern 
investment brokers. 
Mica clicked the latch shut on the small box. She left her 
apartment through the French doors, rounded the house through 
the gardens and reentered in the kitchen. Since the guests had 
all been instructed to remain on the main floor, she hoped they 
wouldn’t detect her movement towards the stairs. The rain had 
slowed to a drizzle, but the wind had picked up. She crossed 
her fingers, hoping the outside noise would cover her footsteps. 
As quietly as possible, she slipped around the corner and 
sped up the stairs two at a time. She didn’t hesitate, but fit the 
key in the lock and turned it, then she stepped through and 
closed the door behind her. The unmistakable scent of beeswax 
candles greeted her, and she wondered how she had ever thought 
Indigo Bay was a simple extension of the existing bed and 
breakfast. 
The gold clinked as she shifted the box to her other arm. 
The individual coins were small, but they were heavy when 
you put a bunch of them together. Determined to leave her 
present for Logan and be gone as fast as possible, she tiptoed 
down the hall. She had almost reached the study when she 
detected angry voices from beyond the partly open door. 
“I want what’s due me! My father and I were stuck on this 

stinking piece of dirt while you partied away your time up 
North, attending balls and seducing all the women you could 
find. How do you think I felt when I learned the will was entailed 
and all my hard work was for nothing?” 
Neil’s voice rose in anger, and Mica feared he might try to 
harm Logan. She crept closer, trying to see around the corner 
of the door without being spotted. 
“You could hardly categorize as work what you and your 
father did to this island,” Logan snorted. “If you had been in 
control much longer, there would be nothing left.” 
There was a pause, and Mica longed to see Logan’s face. 
Before she could move, he continued the discussion. 
“I told you no more, Neil. If you can’t make a contribution 
to this island and its inhabitants, I refuse to give you any more 
money to squander at the gambling tables.” 
Logan’s voice held more exasperation than anger, and 
Mica’s heart when out to him. Neil could be her ex-husband’s 
twin. 
“If you think I’m going to work side-by-side with darkies, 
think again. There are other ways to insure I get what I deserve.” 
Mica felt guilty listening to their private conversation and 
she decided to leave the box in Logan’s bedroom. He must 
have seen her shadow on the wall, however, for he called to 
her as she turned. 
“Michaela Marie, what are you doing here? It isn’t midnight 
and the witching hour yet,” he said, sarcasm lacing his voice. 
His face came into view when she stepped inside the 
doorway and stopped. His brown eyes flashed with fury and 
he looked as though he would throttle her. 
“Did you come back, like Neil, in hopes I have to sign 
over the island because my crops failed and I’m unable to pay 
my debts?” He stood magnificently proud and stubborn. His 
hair was tousled, as though he’d been out in the wind. His 
white linen shirt clung to the contours of his work-hardened 
chest. 
She couldn’t blame him for being angry with her. She had 
made a habit of disappearing. Still, he didn’t have to be quite 
so rude, not after everything they had shared. 

With deliberate strides, she walked to his desk. The gold 
jingled as she thunked the wooden chest onto the desk and slid 
it across the smooth surface close to where his hands rested. “I 
came back to help, like I said I would.” 
“You said many things, and some were far from believable. 
I don’t know whether to trust your word—on any of it.” His 
gaze locked with hers, and she recognized his hurt because of 
her deception. His eyes, always portraying hope and laughter, 
were now were full of betrayal and cynicism. 
She had told him she loved him, but she couldn’t stay. She 
had tried to warn him, but that didn’t make her sneaking out 
on him right, and she knew it. 
She gestured towards the box. “This will help, in case—” 
“I don’t need your help.” He bit out the words, making no 
move to open the box. He straightened to his full height, his 
whole body offended by her gesture. His gaze flickered from 
her to Neil. “Regardless of what you both might think, I can 
take care of my own.” 
He turned back to her. “I don’t need your charity. The 
auction was held over a week ago. Though skeptical, most of 
the buyers trust the Indigo Bay name enough they still bought 
our dye. The price was only slightly lower than last year.” 
“Oh, Logan, I’m happy for you, I really am.” Tears misted 
her vision. His posture rejected both her money and her, and 
she knew his stubborn pride would prevent him from accepting 
her gift. 
Neil moved closer to the desk, his green eyes flashing with 
defiance. “This is all very touching, but it doesn’t solve my 
problem.” He reached for the box. “If your pride won’t allow 
you to accept this lovely lady’s money, I most certainly have 
no such scruples.” 
With a flick of his wrist, he flipped open the box. “Holy 
jumping mother of Moses! It’s full of gold!” He grabbed for 
the glittering coins, only to have his wrist clinched by Logan. 
“Get out, Neil.” Logan spoke harshly, but his penetrating 
gaze never left Mica’s face. She paled, unable to understand 
the emotions that washed across his features. “Leave the island 
today, and don’t return until you’re willing to work.” 

He released his grip on Neil’s wrist, thrusting him away as 
he had the broken pieces of indigo. 
Neil bristled, his gaze still on the gold. “There must be 
thousands there. You don’t need it. You have your precious 
island,” he sneered, his voice full of hate. 
Logan slammed the lid shut. “Out!” 
Neil backed slowly towards the door. “You can’t have it 
all, Brother. Never fear, I will be back.” He roughly shoved 
Mica aside, storming down the hallway. 
Deadly silence spoke louder than words as Logan stared 
across the width of the room. When Mica could stand it no 
longer, she reached out a hand, pleading with her gaze that he 
understand her motives—both in leaving and giving him the 
gold. 
“Logan?” 
“I don’t need your gold, Michaela. I need you.” Angry 
strides brought him right in front of her, and she stepped back. 
“I need you here beside me, day in and day out, to share my 
life and happiness. Can you do that? Or will I wake up one 
morning and find you gone again?” 
She gasped when he grabbed her upper arms and dragged 
her into an embrace. Before she could answer his questions, 
he kissed her. But instead of passion, his kiss was full of anger 
and hunger and desperation. She clung to him, answering his 
need with her own. 
When he finally released her, she wept against his shoulder. 
This had been her reason for not wanting to see him. 
“I have to go,” she whispered brokenly. 
His hands dropped to his sides, his breath soft and warm 
against her temple. “I love you, Michaela Marie. Does that 
count for naught?” 
“I’m not what you need,” she said, sobbing even as she 
backed towards the door. 
“But you’re all I’ll ever want.” He turned his back on her, 
and Mica knew he was giving her a choice. He wouldn’t stop 
her this time, and he wouldn’t beg her to stay. 
With a sob, she turned and fled. 
*** 

Mica stood at the edge of the beach. She should be inside, 
but everything had been done that could be done. The shutters 
were up, food stored, lamps and flashlights available should 
Hurricane Charley not go out to sea as predicted. 
The wind had picked up considerably, tossing rain and sea 
mist against her. She didn’t notice, because the moisture mixed 
with the tears that slid silently down her face. 
She turned and glanced down the beach. Apparently other 
people on the island also thought Charley would veer away. 
Quite a few lights flickered from the many homes on the 
waterfront—homes she no longer thought of as part of Logan’s 
Indigo Bay. 
Pieces of litter blew against her legs. She yelled out angrily, 
“Why are you trying to destroy Logan’s island?” The wind 
provided no answer to her fury. 
She hugged herself against the bits of blowing sand, her 
tears obscuring the rolling clouds and black horizon. How could 
her life have changed so radically in such a short time? Could 
she honestly go back to Charleston and resume her life? She 
laughed, a mirthless echo against the strengthening wind. 
Her life seemed only to have begun with Logan. He had 
shown her the marvels of unspoiled beauty, hard work and love. 
He had opened her eyes to the wonders shared by two people 
working towards a common goal. 
If she returned to Charleston, Logan would be lost to her 
forever. He said he wanted her—her love, her undivided 
attention—not her money or any other material thing she had 
to offer. It had been heartbreaking to leave him, his stiff back 
turned to her, not in rejection, but in affirmation of her right to 
choose. She loved him all the more for allowing her that right, 
though she wished it could be otherwise. Could she go to him 
now, only for the weekend, and not want to stay wrapped in 
his arms forever? 
She clutched the key she wore—the talisman to her dreams. 
“What should I do? How am I to live without him?” Her cries 
of anguish faded into the coming night, and her tears mingled 
with the salt spray from the breakers. 
The wind answered this time, for above the thunder of ocean 

and storm, she heard the sweet melody of a waltz. Compelling 
and exotic, it beckoned her. She began to run, realizing at last 
that she really had no choice. The decision had been made more 
than a century before. With each step, her heart pounded, 
anxious to claim that which she had almost denied forever. 
Abruptly, every light along the shore went out, forcing Mica 
to slow her pace. Knowing from past experience that the storm 
would keep the electricity out for the duration, she hesitated. 
Should she check on her guests before abandoning her aunt’s 
home forever? 
“I’m not really leaving,” she whispered as she trotted up 
the path. “I’ll always take good care of your island, Aunt Theo.” 
She sent a silent thank you to her beloved aunt, for without her 
gift of Sea Crest, Mica might never have found Logan. 
She had the distinct feeling Aunt Theo and Logan’s Aunt 
Margaret had planned this from the very beginning. Mica only 
wished they had made it easier, but then she might not have 
appreciated what she had found in Logan. 
She entered the kitchen, feeling her way along the south 
wall to avoid stubbing a toe on the appliances. A flickering 
light in the vicinity of the living room caught her eye, and she 
carefully made her way in that direction. 
Two indefinable shapes huddled on the sofa in the dark. 
The flashlight blinked on and off in the corner, but the small 
circle of light did little to illuminate the room. 
“Anna?” Mica took a cautious step forward. 
One of the dark silhouettes answered. “Yes, it’s me. The 
batteries must not be very good.” 
Mica moved towards the couch as her manager continued 
nervously, “Never did care for storms. Most of the time, I go 
up to Orlando and stay with my sister. Even if a hurricane comes 
inland, it usually loses its punch before it hits Molly’s.” 
Anna’s wistful voice reminded Mica that soon the older 
woman would be in full charge of Sea Crest. Mica now 
wondered if she could handle it. 
“Mrs. Harris, there’s something you should know.” 
“Now, dear, don’t worry about me. I just get a little 
melancholy when a storm hits. You see, I lost my husband in a 

storm at sea. He was a fisherman.” She spoke to no one in 
particular, but Mica understood her need for conversation to 
chase away her fears. 
She had moved close enough to recognize Mr. Barker sitting 
next to Anna, his bald head glowing in the meager light. That 
could only mean the domineering Mrs. Barker had control of 
the only other light. 
Mica turned toward that corner of the sitting room. Nadine 
Barker had begun pulling books from the shelves. The 
flashlight, tucked under one arm, cast distorted shadows on 
the wall. 
“Mrs. Barker, I’d prefer you stay away from the windows. 
Come over here with the rest of us. Besides, you have no right 
to dig through the personal library.” 
“I’m not going to sit in the middle of the room like a ninny, 
just because of a little storm. Besides, we’re so close to 
discovery. Harold, come here and hold this damned light.” She 
tapped the flashlight against her palm as it went out again. As 
though God took exception to Mrs. Barker’s criticism of His 
handiwork, a roll of thunder, followed by a loud crash, echoed 
from above. 
Anna twisted her hands in agitation. “I do hope that wasn’t 
Professor Bigley. He refused to come downstairs, you know.” 
“No, I didn’t know.” Mica sighed but headed for the stairs. 
Why was it that when she had finally reached a satisfactory 
conclusion to her personal dilemma, everything began working 
against her? She certainly couldn’t chance going through the 
door with the professor upstairs. 
“Professor Bigley, where are you?” She kept one hand on 
the banister as she crept up the stairs and turned down the hall. 
She had just reached his door when it slammed open. The 
professor and his squealing ghost machine tumbled out into 
the hall. 
“Sorry. Had to go back for more film. I accidentally 
knocked over the water pitcher and bowl.” He didn’t slow down, 
but tossed his explanation over a shoulder as he hurried towards 
the far end of the corridor. Right towards the door to Indigo 
Bay! 

Mica’s breath caught. Surely he couldn’t know. She tried 
to calm herself as she raced to catch up with him. 
“Please, Professor, you must come downstairs. If the wind 
gets much worse, I can’t be responsible for your safety. The 
trees, telephone poles...” Her voice trailed off, but her mouth 
remained open. 
The professor’s contraption glowed with lights. Every bulb 
on the machine was blinking in a series of reds, greens or blues. 
Fortunately, he had turned the volume down, but Mica couldn’t 
stop staring in amazement. The closer he moved to the door, 
the faster the lights blinked. 
“There’s a great disturbance on the other side of that door. 
The same sort I noticed weeks ago, only much stronger.” 
“It’s probably just the weather,” Mica spoke to divert the 
professor’s attention. She recalled the episode when Logan had 
accidentally crossed over. She didn’t doubt the professor’s 
machine could really detect spectral phenomena. Now she must 
get him downstairs so she could investigate. Was Logan 
standing on the other side of the door yearning for her? Waiting 
for her? 
“No, no, it’s not the storm, nor the electrical currents 
generated by the lightning. Something horrendous is happening 
beyond that door, and we must help!” He set the box down and 
wrapped both hands around the doorknob, twisting and jerking 
in an attempt to open it. “Where’s the key? There used to be a 
key in this lock.” 
Mica quickly slipped the key down the front of her shirt. 
Nobody, not even the professor, could be allowed access to 
Indigo Bay. She would protect it and its inhabitants with her 
life. But if what the professor said was true, Logan was in 
trouble. 
Anna’s cry of alarm sounded from downstairs. Mica froze, 
uncertain which direction to go. The manager’s next words 
made her decision for her. 
“Fire!” Anna’s cry became one of panic and Mica had no 
choice. She was happy to note, however, that the professor 
raced her to the stairs. 
They came upon Harold and Anna slapping ineffectively 

at a small flame on the edge of a throw rug. Mica grabbed the 
fire extinguisher behind the desk and quickly doused the area. 
It hadn’t been a large blaze, but Mica rounded on Harold, whose 
red face tattled on him. 
“What the hell were you thinking?” she shouted right in 
his face. 
“I’m terribly sorry. Naddie didn’t have enough light to see 
the books, so I thought to light one of those small lamps to 
help her out.” He shrank from Mica’s vicious glare. 
“Of all the idiotic ideas. I told you not to disturb my 
property.” She took a step forward, not sure that, at the moment, 
she didn’t intend to do him bodily harm. 
Nadine came to her husband’s defense as the professor led 
a distraught Anna over to the couch. “My goodness, Ms. 
Chadwick, it’s not like it was a raging inferno. Just a little 
disturbance, that’s all.” 
Raging inferno? Disturbance? That’s what had been written 
in the— 
“Where’s that journal?” Mica questioned the woman, her 
voice brooking no argument. 
Nadine gave her one, anyway. “Now see here, you have no 
right to our book.” 
“Where is it?” She spit the words, grabbing the woman by 
the arm and shaking her with all her might. 
“Here, here!” Harold thrust the book into her hands, forcing 
her to let go of his wife, whom he cuddled as she feigned injury. 
Mica ignored them as she frantically flipped through the 
pages, searching for the passage she had read before. “Where 
is it?” she mumbled, scanning the erratic handwriting. 
“Not only does he have the land, but now the gold as 
well...a raging inferno consumes all he holds dear. Then I 
shall have my revenge!” 
Dear God, she had given Neil yet another reason to covet 
what belonged to Logan. No wonder it hadn’t made sense 
before. She had read the journal entry before she had taken the 
gold to Logan. 
In court they would call it circumstantial evidence—a 
journal with no dates or names, and nonsensical comments 

about spectral disturbances from a professor who believed in 
ghosts. Mica didn’t care, because this time she relied on her 
heart. Racing up the stairs and stumbling in the dark, she 
staggered down the hall. Fumbling for the key, her hands shook 
so badly she had difficulty fitting it properly. 
“Please, please, don’t let it be too late,” she begged. “Not 
now. Not after I’ve finally learned to love.” 
The door gave beneath her shoulder, and she fell through 
the entrance, thick smoke immediately causing her to choke. 
She slammed the door and dropped to her knees, though the air 
wasn’t much easier to breathe. She held her shirttails up to 
cover her mouth and nose. 
“Logan,” she yelled as loudly as she dared, knowing that 
to breathe too deeply would only make it more difficult. 
Crawling on hands and knees, she checked every room as she 
came to it. 
The room in which she slept showed signs of a search. 
Bed linens were strewn across the floor, and the draperies hung 
at crooked angles against the windows. Apparently Neil thought 
she lived permanently at Indigo Bay and he had searched her 
room for the gold. 
The smoke and heat intensified as Mica crept down the 
hall. Though she shouted Logan’s name until her voice grew 
hoarse, she could hear no response. Perhaps he had gotten out, 
but Mica’s heart told her otherwise. 
The study was shut tight, but smoke rolled from beneath 
the door. She heard a timber crack and then thunder to the 
floor somewhere within. 
“Logan,” she shouted again as she reached for the door 
handle. “Ouch! Damn it!” She jerked her hand back, blisters 
already forming where the hot metal had bitten into her palm. 
She couldn’t even conjure up enough spit to moisten it. 
Rising to her knees, she wrapped the tails of her shirt around 
her hand before attempting to touch the knob again. As she felt 
the latch give, she dropped back to the floor and rolled up 
against the wall. She had heard too many horror stories about 
flash fires erupting when new oxygen became accessible. 
A blast of bone-melting heat escaped when the door opened 

further, and Mica was thankful for the wall’s thin protection. 
When the smoke cleared a little, she cautiously peered around 
the doorjamb. Flames cracked and sizzled, licking up the walls 
to consume the wallpaper and timbers beneath. 
The fire appeared contained along the outside wall of the 
study, and Mica searched the floor and closer areas for signs 
of life. This room, too, showed signs of invasion—Logan’s 
precious law books laid helter-skelter on the floor, and papers 
from his desk were scattered to become more fuel for the fire. 
“Logan, I know you’re here somewhere. I can feel it.” She 
crawled into the room, her gaze moving constantly in search 
of him. Then she heard a moan. 
“Logan!” This time she shouted, scrambling to her feet as 
she came around the back of the desk. 
*** 
Logan tried to make sense of his world. His lungs burned, 
the back of his skull felt like someone had cracked it wide 
open, and a sharp pain invaded his right shoulder to travel down 
his arm. Smoke and tears blurred his vision. 
He thought perhaps Neil had gotten the best of him after 
all, for kneeling beside him was the most beautiful angel he 
would ever see. Her wet tears dropped to his face to become 
balm for his soul. 
“Michaela...Marie,” he croaked. “Ever the salvation of this 
wretched soul, aren’t you?” He reached with his uninjured arm 
to circle her neck and draw her closer. “Have you come to 
gloat over what my stubborn pride has cost me?” 
“You are stubborn,” she said, sobbing as she hugged him. 
“But if there’s anything to gloat over, it’ll have to be done 
later.” 
She was tugging at his arm, trying to get him to his feet. At 
her words, he became aware of the heat. He swiveled his head 
to survey the damage, intense pain ricocheting inside his skull. 
“Damnation!” Leaning heavily on her for support, Logan 
managed to shift from his knees to his feet. When Michaela 
grabbed his right wrist and tried to wrap his arm around her 
shoulder in support, he cried out in agony. 
“I’m sorry, but we’ve got to get out of here! I can’t call 

911 to come to our rescue.” 
As they shuffled over to the door, Logan didn’t have time 
to wonder about her choice of words. It took all his strength 
and willpower just to move his feet one in front of the other. 
They entered the hallway, and he slumped against the wall, 
unable to take another step. Black crept into the edges of his 
vision, and he feared he would pass out. 
“We must stop—just for a moment,” he wheezed, for the 
smoke still captured in his lungs made it difficult to say the 
simplest words. 
“We can’t,” she replied. Her hands felt cool against his 
cheeks as she cradled his head. Still, the black crept closer, 
sucking the strength from his legs. He began to slide down the 
wall. 
“Look at me!” He couldn’t recall ever hearing such 
determination in her voice before. “I love you, Thomas Logan 
Rutledge, and I didn’t come back to you just to have you die on 
me.” 
Her words gave him strength, for he truly thought when 
she left this afternoon he would never see her again. She had 
become his world, more precious than the land he held so dear, 
and more valuable than any gold she might give him. 
Too late, he had gone in search of her. He would have 
pleaded, begged on bended knee, for her to come back. Unable 
to find her, he had gone to the music room, pleading his case 
with his music. He had prayed she would hear, as she had before, 
and return to his side. 
Now, his angel had no mercy as she tugged him away from 
the wall by his shirtfront, and together they stumbled down the 
hallway. 
Fortunately, Simon met them at the top of the stairs, and 
between Michaela and him, Logan managed to get to the 
bottom. 
“Mister Logan, I got everyone out, but I thought you had 
gone into town.” Simon informed him. 
Logan had intended a visit with friends before Neil’s arrival, 
and he had earlier told Simon not to wait dinner. 
“It’s ... all right.” His voice cracked, and he coughed. 

Once outside in the fresh air, Logan’s senses became more 
tuned to his surroundings. He found his people already forming 
a bucket brigade, but he seriously doubted anything could be 
saved. Fortunately, a rain had begun to fall, and it would help 
put out the flames. He had no strength to help. He could only 
stand and watch the fire consume his home, and he hugged 
Michaela tightly to his side. 
“Thank the heavens you weren’t there when Neil returned,” 
he told her, his voice harsh with emotion. He kissed her 
forehead. Her solid presence felt so right. 
“It was all my fault.” 
Her whisper held anguish, and he hugged her tighter to let 
her know he was all right. 
“No, you’re not to blame. I should have listened to you 
when you tried to warn me about Neil.” He sighed. “He wasn’t 
satisfied with a share, nor was he willing to work for it. He 
wanted it all and tried to kill me to get it.” Logan swiveled his 
head, trying to release the tension and dull ache that still clung 
to his brain. 
A groomsman interrupted with a discreet cough. Logan 
glanced over Michaela’s head to where the man stood, bathed 
in wavering light from the fire. 
“Excuse me for bothering you, Mister Logan, and I’m sorry 
to be the bearer of bad news, but I thought you’d want to know.” 
He nervously twisted and untwisted his felt hat. 
“What is it?” Logan couldn’t think of any news worse than 
watching his home burn to the ground. 
“It’s your brother, sir.” He coughed again, his gaze shifting 
from the ground to the house and back, looking anywhere but 
directly into Logan’s eyes. 
“Get on with it, man.” 
“Well, sir, he come tearing out to the stables, insisting on a 
horse. Knowing how you feel about your animals, I argued 
with him, but he struck me and grabbed the first one he could 
saddle. The horse must have smelled the smoke and panicked, 
for she reared and threw Mister Neil.” Another deliberate pause, 
and Logan raised a brow in question. 
“He’s dead, sir. Broke his fool neck, begging your pardon.” 

With no outward display of emotion, Logan thanked his 
groomsman and turned away, curling his good arm around 
Michaela’s shoulders to pull her close against his chest. 
“I’m sorry, Logan. He committed a terrible crime against 
you, but I still wouldn’t have wished him dead.” 
He kissed the top of her head. “Sweet, sweet Michaela. 
How did you ever manage to be a lawyer when you have such 
a soft heart?” 
She turned in his arms and reached up to kiss him, her lips 
cool and moist. Logan clung to her, wanting to absorb her into 
himself, to forever have her close. He had thought all he would 
ever have were memories of her, but perhaps now his prayers 
had been answered. 
He whispered against her cheek, “I have nothing to offer 
you now, except a pocketful of dreams.” Even before she 
answered, Logan knew what her response would be. He wasn’t 
disappointed. 
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll trade my responsible and dull life 
for your pocketful of dreams any day.” 
Logan’s chest was real and solid against Mica’s back. His 
uninjured arm hugged her tightly to him. They stood together, 
watching as the rain smothered the remaining fire, the smoke 
thick in the damp air. 
“Do we rebuild?” he asked her referring to the future. A 
future they had irreversibly changed. But perhaps they hadn’t 
changed it, after all, because her Cupid statue remained as 
evidence of their destiny. 
“I suppose we must. After all, what will the Barkers have 
to look forward to if there is no Sea Crest and no treasure?” 
Mica spun around, panic in her voice. “Oh, heavens, Logan, 
the gold!” She didn’t care about the gold for herself, but for 
what it could have done for Logan’s island. 
He chuckled hoarsely. “Regardless of the fool I acted at 
the time, I am grateful for your financial backing.” He kissed 
the tip of her nose. “The gold is what brought Neil back. We 
argued, and in the midst of our fight, he clubbed me over the 
head. 
“He must have started the blaze in a fit of fury when he 

couldn’t find the gold. You see, I had already removed it from 
the house and buried it beneath your Cupid. It seemed only 
sentimental at the time, but it proved fortuitous.” 
“Then Neil was searching in vain, yet he almost killed you.” 
“Hush, sweet. It’s all right.” The crash of timbers turned 
their attention back to the remains of Indigo Bay. Silhouetted 
against the first rays of dawn, the gutted building was a grisly 
reminder of all Mica had nearly lost. 
The passage door, oddly enough, was the only piece of 
wood not burned beyond recognition, and it swayed on the 
charred remains of its frame. 
A chill swept through Mica to settle in the key she now 
clutched. The door groaned as if to beckon her, and the key 
grew colder in her hand. The ribbon from which it hung seemed 
to tighten against her neck, constricting her throat and cutting 
off her air. 
“Logan?” She whispered his name fearfully, though she 
knew he had not ventured from her side. 
His arm tightened in reassurance. She didn’t hesitate this 
time, but quickly removed the key from around her neck and 
tossed it into the middle of the smoldering rubble. The instant 
it landed, the door creaked and swayed, then appeared to melt 
down the charred framework to the ground. Presently, only the 
rain and wind could be heard over the loud beat of her heart. 
“You’re stuck here now.” His voice warmed her heart. She 
leaned her head back against his shoulder, knowing that she’d 
made the right choice. This was the life she wanted—the life 
that would give her the happiness she’d never have found in 
her own time. 
“No, I’m not stuck here. I belong here now.” 

Epilogue 
Charleston — Present Day 
Hurricane Charley Blamed for Attorney’s Disappearance. 
The headline of the New York Times jumped out at Matthew 
French. He rapidly scanned the article, his analytical brain 
unable to comprehend the implications. 
Charleston, South Carolina, is still reeling 
from the devastation left by Hurricane Charley, 
the most powerful hurricane to hit the US in 
two decades. Sixty miles north, in the small 
town of Cameron, police are blaming the storm 
for the disappearance of Charleston attorney 
Michaela Marie Chadwick. Reports indicate 
Ms. Chadwick was last seen near Sea Crest, 
her family’s resort home on Cameron Island. 
An official investigation is in progress. 
Matthew dropped the paper back on his desk and left to 
find Katie. He had the feeling, though, that she probably already 
knew.